Mad About You
by nondescriptf
Summary: The first time she saw him, she was 11, it was love at first sight.  The first time he really saw her, he was 28, she was perfect—she would be his.  C/B AU Historical Fic.
1. prologue: when first we met

Easter 1814, England

The sun, accompanied by a light breeze, made for a beautiful day. The Vanderbilt estate was abuzz with constant activity. The ladies either lounged in chaises on the verandah off the formal ballroom or broke into groups of twos or threes, strolling through the impressive gardens. The gentlemen were scattered all across the grounds—some escorting ladies, others proudly pointed out their children's accomplishments. The remaining men appeared to be enlisting groups for either an archery contest or to fish at the lake. As the younger children ran around playing their games, the older children—at or just past the cusp of puberty—were separated by gender; the boys begging to tag along with the would-be fishermen, as the girls sat on picnic blankets watching the debutantes, mere yards away, with academic concentration. The sumptuous Easter luncheon had long been forgotten, with the staff clearing away the bounty to make room for the birthday cake to come.

Chuck Bass, Marquess of Stanhope, future Duke of Rowley, couldn't help but smirk as he noticed his friend Nathaniel Archibald, Viscount Hadley, future Earl of Vanderbilt attempting to extricate himself from the young debutantes. He saw a myriad of womanly wiles being employed—the fluttering of eyelashes, the high pitched giggles, the "accidental" brushing of hands, and of course, the rapt fascination at Nate's every word and gesture.

Leaning against a tree a fair distance away from the hustle and bustle of the entertainment, Chuck lit his cheroot. At twenty, he was starting to develop into the man he would become. His style of dress almost put Beau Brummell to shame, but unlike Beau, he had the funds to back it up. Despite his relaxed pose, his eyes were narrowed, taking everything in and tucking away notes and details for future reference. Just when it looked as though his friend had finally managed to escape, a young girl tugged on his hand. Nate sighed as his eyes met Chuck's. Although exasperated, he turned towards the chit, charming Archibald smile firmly in place. Chuck frowned at the sight of this particular girl, she was comely enough, but there was something "too much" about her. He turned his eyes away from the scene, unable to watch her overt attempts to keep Nate's attention. Chuck always found it distasteful when the marriage-minded mamas pushed their daughters at too young an age to start with the _come hither_ looks.

"Chuck! How can you stand idly by and mock me from all the way over here, instead of rescuing me from those relentless women?" Nate whined as he walked up, breaking his reverie.

"Women?" Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Surely you don't mean that child who clung to you?"

"They are women in disguise, I assure you," Nate stated. "But it's Penelope's birthday, and it wouldn't sit well with my mother if I brushed her off."

"So it's her birthday, Nathaniel, who cares? You should've just flashed your empty golden smile at her and walked away."

"Not all of us are as adverse to children as you are," Nate said tightly. "Mother must owe Lady Shafai some sort of favor. There can be no other explanation as to why we would be hosting her celebration."

"You do realize that you invited me here for the _Easter_ break?" Chuck said condescendingly. His eyes were fixed on the sight of Penelope and another brunette girl arguing.

"Dammit!" Nate exclaimed. "How do I forget these things?"

"Easily?" Chuck mused.

Both men turned their heads at the sound of Nate's name being called from across the lawn. With a shrug, Nate snatched the cheroot from Chuck's fingers, and took a deep drag before returning it, "Duty calls."

And in a flash, Chuck was left alone—as he preferred. He had just settled into the tree again when snatches of the argument he had been watching were heard.

"_Please! Everyone knows Serena's only nice to you because you make it so easy for her to shine. Your eyes are too big, your hair is such a plain colored brown and you're always going on about some book you're reading!"_

"_Real ladies are neither petty nor mean, and since it's your birthday, I will humor your unintelligible rantings!" _

Chuck watched as the smaller of the two brunette girls turned her back on Penelope, and with a muffled cry walked away with all the dignity someone her age could hope for. She appeared to be making a beeline towards him, when she abruptly turned to her left and hid behind a large tree. After a moment of silence, he heard gasps for air followed by loud sobs. He wondered what had caused that Penelope girl to act so churlishly. Who was Serena and why did this girl even care?

Despite his preference to observe life, rather than participate, the haunting sounds of this girl's sobs were pricking holes into his almost non-existent conscience, and he felt compelled to at least attempt to soothe her pain. As he put out his cheroot and walked over, he reached in his pocket for his handkerchief. "Moppet, what has you so overwrought that you left the festivities?"

Startled, Blair snapped her head up and saw the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He had thick dark hair with a slight curl, pale skin, long eyelashes and deep brown eyes. He knelt down to her, with a smirk on his face and a hand outstretched, offering his handkerchief. With only a sob and a hiccup or two, Blair composed herself as her mother had taught her to do. Taking a deep breath she said, "Thank you, my lord, but I am quite well."

Chuck looked down at the brave little girl, and his smirk had transformed into a smile. She had long brown hair and porcelain skin. Although her nose was red, and her face tear-stained, he couldn't get over her piercing brown doe eyes. They were far too large for her face, he mused, but could see all the promise of the beauty she could become once nature took its course. "I don't think you are well at all. I'm Chuck Bass, and you are…?"

Blair looked up at him, and her heart skipped a beat. Penelope's words were ringing in her head and added to her dismay. She could just imagine how awful she looked with her tears and sniffling. With a proper curtsey, she woefully said, "Blair Waldorf, my lord."

Chuck was quite amused by this scenario, he never was one to play the hero, but there was something about watching this duckling stand up for herself. He returned her impressively respectful curtsey with an equally deferential bow. "Now, Miss Waldorf, I insist you tell me what happened."

"I am trying to offset ignorance and classlessness with grace and acuity," she returned with a shrug.

Chuck started laughing aloud. "Miss Waldorf, how old are you?"

"Eleven, my lord. And you?" She countered.

"I'm 19, moppet, but my birthday is next month," he returned. "Do you realize how mature you appear to be?"

"Happy birthday, in advance, my lord."

"Thank you. But you haven't answered my question."

"Yes, I'm aware. 'Tis a blessing and a curse to be as precocious as I am," Blair said with a sigh. "I tire of having to act as though I am not as bright as the boys. And I cannot help it if the girls my age refuse to read and educate themselves. I am one of the youngest, and so I have not developed as much as they have."

Chuck stood there in utter delight and shock. Every aversion he reserved for children—was she a child, still?—was temporarily undone by this slip of a girl. He marveled that she was far more entertaining than most of his classmates at school. In a conspiratorial tone, Chuck exaggeratedly whispered, "Are you a bluestocking in training?"

"Yes, I fear I am." Blair paused—taking a quick look around to insure no one was witnessing their conversation—before she confided, "I have just started to read Jane Austen, and I must admit, I think she is gifted beyond reason."

"Aha! And have you paid due respects to Ms. Burney?"

"Epistolary novels are not my preferred choice of prose, sir. And while I found _Evelina_ to be somewhat compelling, I felt that the actual writing was somewhat underwhelming."

"So it has been said. And what of Behn? Manley?" Chuck continued.

"Are you intentionally leaving out Eliza Haywood?" Blair said with an eye roll. "I have heard of the Fair Triumvirate of Wit, you know. I prefer Haywood to Behn or Manley."

"Why would that be?" Chuck was almost shocked. His initial intent was to toy with her to see if any of this act was rehearsed, by referencing Frances Burney. But her access and actual knowledge of literature considered risqué was astonishing.

"Behn's writing leaves much to be desired. I remind myself of that fact whenever I read her. I fell asleep TWICE when reading _Oroonoko_."

"Did you ever finish reading it?"

"Of course! I couldn't bear not to. I finish everything I start reading. I abhor the idea that someone is better read than I!" Blair said passionately.

"And have you read any Samuel Richardson?"

"I find him to be quite boring, too. I do not understand the ruckus about his work. What _were_ people in the 1740s thinking? And although Fielding's satirical works were cunning in response, I don't know if they held enough merit to command the attention that it did."

"And what does your mother think of this?"

"She feigns ire at my elbows being bruised from reading for long periods of time. But I know she approves, lest she would not allow me to have so many books!"

"And your father?"

"He quizzes me on all that I've read," Blair happily explained. "He finds it especially amusing when I quiz him back...Oomph!" Her eyes widened as she clamped her hands over her mouth. _How had she allowed herself to forget where she was? Did she not realize to whom she was speaking to?_

Chuck was completely enthralled—was he having an intellectual discussion with an eleven year old? "Please, continue, in fact, _I insist_."

"My lord, please forgive me, I forgot myself. You do not have to humor me and pretend to discuss literature. I should probably return to the picnic, Serena will be wondering where I am. It was nice to meet you Lord Bass." Blair curtseyed again, and walked away. She valiantly tried not to let the tears spill from her eyes. Her mother had warned her not to forget herself in front of men, that they preferred their women simpering and quiet, not intelligent and clever. And while Lady Waldorf encouraged Blair to be as educated as boys her age were, she had also issued strict instructions that Blair not show this side of herself in public. She was certain that Chuck Bass thought her to be the most unattractive bluestocking he had ever met. This surely was no way for her to practice the art of procuring a husband.

Chuck followed her and took her hand. As Blair swung around, he saw the newly formed tears, and used his previously ignored handkerchief to wipe the tears away from her cheeks and whispered, "Moppet—I think intelligent women are a rare and special gift. You are unique, and when you grow up, there won't be a single boy your age who will be able to refuse you."

As Blair looked up into his eyes, she threw herself in his arms and hugged him. At first, Chuck's arms hung loosely at his side, as he wondered when the last time he had been held in a comforting embrace was. Had he forgotten how to give a hug? Was it even possible to unlearn such a normal, physical action? She continued to cling to him with such innocent faith, that he found his arms naturally returning her embrace and lightly stroked her hair. His mind started to wander and his dark memories that lurked, begged to surface. He shook his head and forced himself to focus on this moment, "Now Miss Waldorf, you are to return to the party, head held up high, and no matter what anyone says—remember that you are _amazing_."

"Thank you, Lord Bass!" Blair's eyes were shining and bright as she ran back to the party full of confidence—it wasn't every day that one met the man they were going to marry.

Chuck returned to his stashed cheroot, re-lit it and resumed his position against the tree. He sincerely hoped that he would be around the day that Blair Waldorf went to London and set the ton on its ear.

* * *

Dedicated to the always amazing Noirreigne, who gracefully beta'd and inspired me to pen my first fic.


	2. ch 1: calling in favors

September 1822, London

The infrequently used music room at the van der Woodsen townhouse seemed to be the perfect hiding place. Armed with a copy of Sir Walter Scott's _Ivanhoe_, Blair was convinced that she would find a respite from the mounting pressures of the upcoming London season. At nineteen, she was to have her first season—a bit later than most, but not alarmingly so. As she willed herself to focus on the printed words before her, her mind kept wandering and started recollecting how this all came to be.

Four years ago, Blair's father, Harold Waldorf had passed away, unveiling a mountain of debt caused by their extravagant lifestyle. While not destitute, the limited amount of available funds had required Eleanor to become industrious, to economize—something an Earl's daughter and baron's wife knew little about. But in true Eleanor fashion, she assessed her options and capitalized on her flair for haute couture, having always been a trendsetter for the ton. For the past eighteen months, under the guise of _Madame Thierry_, Eleanor had become the most sought after modiste in London. Eleanor's recent romantic involvement with a rumored merchant added to the whispers that perhaps Lady Eleanor Waldorf and Madame Thierry were one. The ton frowned heavily on the commingling between nobility and trade—fortunately no one had been able to prove anything, at least not yet.

But none of that was what weighed most heavily on Blair. What troubled her the most was Eleanor's pronouncement last month that Blair had only two seasons to find herself a husband. Her mother was exhausted from her _double life_ and as soon as Blair was safely married off, she planned on unveiling her secret identity. She had apologized profusely to Blair for pressuring her into finding a match so quickly, and had upped the initial one season offer to two when she saw the look of shock on her face. How could Blair tell her mother that she wasn't sure that two seasons would be enough—especially if Chuck Bass wasn't in town?

As childish and unrealistic as it might appear to be, Blair was truly convinced that Chuck Bass was the only man for her. After their first meeting, she had sought him out later that day, only to discover he had been mysteriously summoned by the duke, his father, and had abruptly departed the Vanderbilt estate. Blair had been too shy and embarrassed to gather the courage to ask Nate for any further information. But a few days later, when a footman from the Archibald's had brought over a package for her to the van der Woodsen home, Blair had been delighted, and it had only further cemented the fact that she would marry Chuck Bass.

And so for over eight years, Blair Waldorf went to sleep each night with thoughts of meeting Chuck Bass again, in London, and having him fall madly in love with her. She was determined to use every advantage and trick she had to in order to capture his heart. While she knew that she may not be considered as comely as Serena, she was definitely striking and becoming in her own right. She hoped he would remember her, but in all honesty, she wasn't sure that he would. His reputation as a rake with a mile long list of lovers was legendary, as were his exploits as he traveled all across Europe. It might be too much to wish he would remember comforting an awkward, crying girl.

The only solace thus far had been that she was sharing her first season in London with Serena. Although Serena was two years older than Blair, she too, had yet to have her official London come out. With William van der Woodsen's penchant to travel, Serena had spent the greater part of the past three years in France. Although she had already participated in the mini-seasons at the Paris salons, and would be considered quite old for a come out; there appeared to be an agreement between the Archibalds' and the van der Woodsens'. Neither Serena, nor Lily, Serena's mother, would speak a word about what the agreement entailed. It was heavily implied however, that Serena was to have an official London season before announcing her engagement to Viscount Hadley. Blair was eager for the details, as Nate's presence in France for the past two years was almost as steady as Serena's had been. But regardless of how much Blair pressed, Serena was surprisingly silent on the topic.

"Blair!" Serena's voice suddenly echoed down the hallway. "Blair!"

Her reflections were interrupted and with a sigh, she shut the book she had not managed to read a single word from. The enthusiasm that tinged Serena's voice meant only one thing—her absolute attention and mutual excitement were going to be required. Just as she set down the book down next to her, Serena burst through the doors waving a letter. "You'll never guess what this is!"

"Hmmm…could it be…a letter?" Blair asked coolly, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. Serena unceremoniously plopped onto the settee, jostling Blair's copy of _Ivanhoe_ from the cushion onto the floor. "S!"

Serena stuck her tongue out at Blair and made a face. "You deserved it! You were making fun of me, when I have such good news!"

As Blair picked her book off the floor and set it on the nesting tables to her right, she couldn't help but smile. Serena's enthusiasm was contagious and she continued to tease her, "If it's _such good news_, than I don't want to hear it. I only want to hear _the best news ever_!"

"If you insist on behaving that way, than I'll just have to write Lord Archibald and decline his offer," Serena said slyly, folding the missive she had previously waved at Blair.

"Oh, so it's Lord Archibald now, not 'Nate'?" Blair asked, vainly attempting to project disinterest.

Serena blushed, "B!"

"I'm sure there are other things you're not telling me, S. Spare me your expressive eyebrows! I can't wait until you accidentally singe them and have to draw them in every morning," Blair continued mischievously.

"Blair! Don't even joke about that! If we're being honest, you will succumb to that fate before I do, with your late night reading and all!" Serena retorted.

"True."

"Fine! I'll tell you. Nate has promised to sign both of our cards for our come out ball, and agreed to procure an array of influential and eligible lords to dance with us throughout the evening!" Serena exclaimed.

"Did he say that, truly?" Blair whispered. Her heart started beating rapidly, her cheeks flushing at the thought that _Chuck Bass_ might be at her come out ball. She bit her tongue to keep herself from asking Serena that question outright. "You know how well-liked Nate is with the ton, this can only help us! Wait, not us, me!"

"What do you mean help you, not us?" Serena giggled. "We may both be considered Incomparables this Season!"

"Perhaps you will," she said while eyeing Serena's perfectly shiny blond hair. It really wasn't fair that Serena was so beautiful, but thankfully she was already spoken for. Fortunately Serena did not have an unkind bone in her body, and while aware of her beauty, she was not corrupted by it. "But who shall we dance our first waltz with? Surely Lord Archibald cannot partner us both, as we'll be dancing at the same time!"

"I didn't think of that," Serena exclaimed. Her brow wrinkled in worry as she saw the dilemma. It would be both an honor and a feather in one's cap to dance her first waltz with the handsome and well-liked future Earl of Vanderbilt, Nathaniel Archibald. Wistfully, Serena confessed, "I always assumed my first waltz would be with Nate…"

"Then so it shall be!" Blair returned. As long as she could remember, Serena had been in love with Nate and tried to keep her feelings for him to herself. But every now and then something would slip, and Blair would unfailingly take note. Blair was convinced that Serena dreamt of waltzing with Nate the way she herself had dreamt of Chuck Bass. Again her heart constricted, and she tried to calm herself from becoming overexcited.

"Really? You wouldn't mind…" Serena trailed off. As Blair smiled encouragingly at her, her friend vigorously shook her head. "NO! Blair, I insist, Nate will be your partner!"

"S—"

"How could I even consider for a second of my needs when we both know how important it is for you to make a match this season?"

"S! It's al—"

"I cannot believe I forgot what tremendous pressure you are under." Serena pulled Blair's hands in hers and said, "You're my sister, and for you, and only you, would I let my dream of my first waltz with Nate go. Besides, we both know that it will not affect the outcome of the season for me."

As Blair stared into Serena's honest and heartfelt blue eyes, a sigh of relief came out. This was the most Serena had divulged thus far, and it was a given that Serena would be considered a diamond of the first water. And while Blair was aware that she was pleasing to the eye and smart–petite, brown-eyed brunettes were not at all in favor. "S, you even offering, makes me love you more, but I've negotiated a second season. Mother told me to take my time and choose carefully. If I don't find someone this year, I'll have next year. So, I thank you for your generosity, but I will not be standing in the way of your first waltz with Lord Archibald."

Serena smiled ruefully at Blair, "Am I that obvious? I thought I was getting more adept at disguising my feelings for Nate."

"You referring to him as _Nate_ and not _Lord Archibald_ would be one clue," Blair said gently. "I'm your best friend, S, I see things other people don't. How many letters have I received from you that were full of _Nate this_ and _Nate that_? Now I'm sure if Lord Archibald can, as you say, 'procure an array of influential and eligible lords', than surely one of them can partner me for my waltz?"

"You're right, I don't know why I didn't think of that to begin with. As much as I pretend not to hear, I know that Nate travels with the fast set. Fortunately they are always just on the right side of respectable. Well, most of them...except for that rake, Chuck Bass!"

"Chuck Bass?" Blair forced herself to inject a note of confusion into her voice. "The future Duke of Rowley?"

"Well, currently he's the Marquess of Stanhope. You remember, we met him years ago! That year your parents went to France, and let you stay with us for Easter? Nate had just gotten back from Oxford? He brought his new friend?" Serena started rambling. "That was the year that that dreadful Penelope Shafai turned thirteen and became unbearable! Remember how she always looked down her nose at everyone…THAT'S IT!"

"Huh?" Blair asked in confusion, amazed by the way Serena's mind was racing. Normally she was the one who kept Serena scrambling to keep up with the inner workings of her mind, but today, she had no idea what direction Serena was headed.

"Chuck Bass! That's who you should dance your first waltz with! He's Nate's closest friend so I'm sure he can secure the favor!" Serena enthused, pride stamped clearly on her face at her solution. "If Nate can do it, then you have no idea how beyond perfect this situation is! The Marquess is the leader of their set, and although his reputation is notorious, it would be a boon just to have him show up—let alone partner you in your first waltz. He is never seen at Almack's and it was overheard that he finds debutantes insipid, silly and boring. We must have him! No one else will do."

Blair could not help but grin at Serena's elaborate explanation, nor the fact that the description was exactly what she had hoped for. As silly as she felt, she could not help but wonder what it would be like to see Chuck Bass again. Blair was still convinced that it had been fate intervening. The only time Blair had visited the van der Woodsen home unaccompanied, was when her parents had decided to go to Paris that fateful year. And in that one visit—she met Chuck Bass. Blair had confided in no one her obsession, let alone the impression that she had ever even met him. She had diligently catalogued and committed to memory any mention. Unfortunately, other than the casual reference of _that rake Chuck Bass_ there was very little in the way of actual information.

"B? BLAIR!" Serena waved a hand in front of her.

"What? Sorry, S, I was just woolgathering" Blair stammered, the blush in her cheeks for once genuine, and not a product of practiced intent. "Do you think that the Marquess will agree? It would solve all our problems, but I don't want to be too hopeful, when you make it sound like such an impossibility."

"I will write to Nate immediately and see if he cannot convince his closest friend to do this tiny, little favor for us," Serena said with a sly smile. "Some persuasion may be required."

"Care to clue me in?"

"Let's just say that I may have figured out something that can convince him to see the importance of getting this done." There was an almost indescribable wickedness in Serena's eyes as she said those words. Blair was about to press the issue, but thought better of it. And as she watched Serena pull out parchment from the writing desk, she allowed herself the privilege of picturing Chuck Bass leading her out onto the dance floor and couldn't help but wonder what _**he**_ would think of her when he saw her for the first time again.

.

.

.

"Did I ever collect on the marker you gave me when I saved you from being challenged to a duel with Lord Williams?"

"Lord Williams?" Chuck asked blankly, his mind unable to place such a common name.

"Lady Hazel's aging husband," Nate hinted.

"Lady Hazel?"

"Seriously, Chuck you remember Lady Hazel! The titan haired coquette that kept cornering you and offered to repeatedly _be of service to you_?" Nate asked flabbergasted.

"Which one?" Chuck answered indifferently with a shrug, as he reached for his glass of scotch.

"How many women have—?"

"I think the question is _why_?" Chuck smoothly interrupted. "If you need a favor, Nathaniel, simply ask for it. Prevarication really isn't your strong suit. I think you and I both know that I prefer not to revisit what's already been sampled. You can not persuade me that this Lady Hazel is anything other than one of the dozens of nameless women who have offered me their favors."

Nate sheepishly looked up. "I was hoping that you'd remember, so that it'd be more difficult than usual for you to decline this request. Although, I am hard pressed to believe that you don't remember how I fortuitously passed by and managed to all but push you off a balcony before Lord Williams caught his wife on her knees in front of you."

Chuck frowned—while Nate's words held a ring of truth to it, he had been shoved off a balcony on more than one occasion. Perhaps he did owe Nate a favor. "Your point Archibald—hurry up and plead your case, so I can decline it and we can return to our previous state of silence."

Nate opened his mouth to speak, but then paused. A fierce look of determination crossed his face. "Miss van der Woodsen and Miss Waldorf's come out ball is next week. I may have promised to have an assortment of the most eligible and influential bachelors make an appearance."

"And…?" Chuck prodded, feeling an unease creep up on him.

"It would be duly noted, that I would be forever in your debt if you found a way to dance Miss Waldorf's first waltz with her."

"Blair Waldorf?" Chuck asked. "That brunette slip of a girl?"

"I wouldn't so much call her a girl anymore," Nate offered. "She's Serena's closest childhood friend, and since I will be escorting Serena, Miss Waldorf is still in need of an escort. Wait! You remember some adolescent child from nearly a decade ago, yet you cannot remember a woman who eagerly attempted to…nevermind! I am convinced I will never understand the way your mind works!"

"So the witty little moppet is all grown up now?" he mused. As his mind filtered through his memories, he started to recall the porcelain doll-like, doe-eyed brunette that had all the promise of maturing into quite a beauty. Chuck was surprised by how quickly the memories rushed back. Blair was the first, perhaps only, person to draw out his protective instincts, compelling him to console her based on her look of dejection alone. While he couldn't place her exact predicament, he recalled seeing her burst into tears, offering his handkerchief, and being stunned as he watched her transformation from a sniffling adolescent into a "society mask" young lady. But what he remembered the most was her jubilation when she had spoken about literature. At the tender age of eleven, Chuck had found her to be incredibly smart and engaging with a budding sense of wit. He also distinctly remembered the hug she had given him, as though he were her knight in shining armor. Chuck couldn't very well explain to Nate that when one was not the recipient of such measures of affection, every time it was doled out to, one took note and remembered it. He honestly didn't think he had been hugged by anyone since that very day.

The sequence of the events that followed meeting Miss Waldorf came rapidly forward. After being summoned to the Rowley ducal estate, Steganhearth, he chanced upon a trinket cart just outside the village. He had seen an intricate wooden box carved with butterflies in flight, and his thoughts immediately went to his little moppet, Blair Waldorf. He impulsively bought it for her in hopes that this would encourage her to spread her intellectual wings and flutter high above her enemies. He posted it directly to the Vanderbilt estate with a note "may you flourish..."

Feeling strangely lighthearted for the first time in what felt like years, he had continued on to the castle, determined to be in complete accord with his father. But sure enough, the arguments were unavoidable and the yelling, lectures and accusations drove him from Steganhearth that very night, never to return. The angry scowl of Bartholomew Bass, 12th Duke of Rowley assaulted his mind for the first time in months. Jaw clenched and knuckles turning white, Chuck reached for his scotch. He tossed the half-full glass back in one gulp, encouraging the numbing sensation in his throat to work its magic on his mind. "I'm afraid even I draw the line at corrupting innocent misses, my dear Nathaniel. I will have you know, that contrary to popular belief, I am not a despoiler of virgins."

Nate wryly said, "But I'm not asking you to do those things, Chuck, I'm simply requesting that you assist in launching this girl into society."

"What's in this for you? You've asked, I've declined, yet I find you asking me yet again." Chuck's eyes narrowed. "Are you here in lieu of a marriage-minded mother?"

"Relax Chuck!" Nate burst into full out laughter.

Chuck strode over to the bar to top off his scotch. After a large sip, he leaned back against the library wall. Crossing his arms, he waited for Nate's laughter to settle before raising a brow.

"Serena asked, no, she begged me to do all within my power to convince you to partner Miss Waldorf in her first waltz," Nate elaborated, his eyes softening as he said Serena's name. "I don't like denying her anything."

Chuck frowned slightly. Although he was beginning to piece together Nate's rationale, he felt a premature sense of loss. It seemed inevitable that his closest and only true friend was soon to be wed. He had noted that Nate had spent the greater part of the last two years dancing attendance on the van der Woodsens' in Paris, instead of accompanying him for their usual adventures. But suddenly, the memory of those big brown eyes tugged at him again, and he felt compelled by some unknown code of honor to partner Miss Waldorf for her first waltz, hating the idea of disappointing her. Unfortunately, remembering her also coincided with unpleasant memories of Bart Bass, and he found that he was at war with himself. So Chuck did what he did best—which was to repress everything. "I have better things to do than dance with some wallflower bluestocking-in-training. And as harmless as it may be, I can't have some barely passable looking debutante fall in love with me."

"I'm sure you'd be more than pleasantly surprised—," Nate tried to insert.

"Tell the chit I stumbled and hurt my ankle, and to my dismay, I will be unable to dance with her. But in order to make it up to her, I will hobble over there and let my presence be felt as I smile approvingly on at her and—," Chuck paused contemplatively. "My replacement should be impeccable."

Nate looked the picture of confusion. First of all, Miss Waldorf was more than 'barely passable', if anything she was as ethereal as Serena was. And now Chuck was worried that she wouldn't have someone equivalent to escort her? Nate shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, "I supposed I'll have to ask either Daniel Humphrey or Asher Hornsby. Who do you think would make the better splash for Miss Waldorf?"

"Hornsby doesn't like women, exactly, and with Humphrey's new volume requesting a 2nd printing, I'd go with Daniel. If I recall correctly, Miss Waldorf was better read at eleven than you are now. Tell Daniel you'll invite that sister of his, if you need to sweeten the deal. A social climber, if I ever saw one—"

"Chuck! You know I don't like to read! And just what do you have against Jenny Humphrey? Every time her name is mentioned, you suddenly develop a conscious about the rules of social hierarchy, _you_, Chuck Bass, who loves to fly in the face of all things proper."

"She threw herself at me, several times. She's barely seventeen—I find it distasteful. I should never have to decline the invitation more than once. There is something wholly untrustworthy about her. I feel that she is the type of girl that would turn the most innocent of kisses into a trap for marriage. Nathaniel, you are aware how low my esteem for marriage is, and coupled with the idea of being married to her, _nothing_ would allow me to risk that."

"Since when are kisses innocent? Methinks he doth protest too much," Nate taunted.

Chuck rolled his eyes, "I don't see you putting yourself in harm's way. In fact, I think you are the only one she fancies above me. She trails after you like a hound."

"She's harmless," Nate shifted uncomfortably.

"I wonder what 'Serena' will think of her when she sees the 'honorable' Jenny Humphrey panting after you like the bitch she is, I wonder if 'Serena' will think she's so harmless," Chuck sneered.

"Jenny Humphrey doesn't hold a candle to Serena. And I'd thank you very much if you'd please address her as Miss van der Woodsen, you haven't seen her in years, and I don't recall her ever giving you leave to call her by her name," Nate fumed.

"When did you offer for her?"

"What are you talking about?"

With a sigh, Chuck spelled it out, "When were the betrothal contracts signed between you and William van der Woodsen?"

Nate sputtered.

"You were less than a minute away from either punching me or challenging me to a duel, because I called her by her given name, so I ask you, friend, when did you offer—"

"Last year," Nate interrupted. "I cannot stand to be without her any longer, Chuck. That's why she's here, to have her first season, before we announce the engagement. Serena makes everything absolutely wonderful and her eyes are mesmerizing …"

Chuck was thankful that Nate was lost in thought; if his friend was inclined to wax poetic about his intended, far be it for him to stop him. Chuck couldn't help but feel a small childish _No!_ But if he were honest, Nate was already lost to him. With a sigh, he caught Nate's eyes, and raised his glass in a toast and thought, _Goodbye friend_.

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_**tbc**_

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For the always amazing Noirreigne, who tirelessly beta'd this, and makes me strive to write something that she would deign worthy of reading.

Thank you for your kind words and reviews, they are much appreciated—as is the song from Hooverphonic "mad about you" that I borrowed the title from.


	3. ch 2: a chance encounter

"Serena! How difficult is it to decide between gloves with a lace trim or without?" Blair exclaimed impatiently, tapping her foot.

"B, I'm not as decisive as you are. You know I always wish I had chosen the opposite whenever I get home! Besides, you are being of _no_help," Serena pouted at the two dozen different types of lace spread out in front of her, varying in shades of white and cream.

"Get more than one pair then!" Blair all but shouted. This was insufferable, she thought. She had spent the better part of an hour pouring over gloves, or rather watching Serena intently study every pair, as though she were to be quizzed on the details of each later. "I will buy you one, if we can just leave! The bookshop closes in less than an hour, and you _promised_ me we would have enough time to make it."

Serena bit back a sharp retort, perhaps the amount of time she spent pouring over lace was equivalent to the amount of time Blair spent perusing the bookshelves. With a sigh, she offered a compromise. "Why don't you go ahead and go to the bookshop so that we may both look at our leisure?"

"Really?" Blair asked. The thought of walking through the bookshop unencumbered by Serena's incessant chatting seemed heavenly. "You don't mind? You won't tell our mothers?"

"I promise. Go run your errand so I can complete mine without your constant complaining," Serena said smoothly with a wave of her hand.

Blair's eyes narrowed, "I'd _so_ hate to be a nuisance."

"B, are you sure you'd like to spend part of the remaining three quarters of an hour arguing with me?"

"Bye, S!" Blair called out as she made a dash for the door, oblivious to the whispers and looks of the other women at the milliner's. She carefully looked both ways before she skipped across the street to Hatchards. Blair peered into the window at the featured display, _Dates To Remember_ by Daniel Humphrey. As she pondered the title, she wrinkled her nose. Why would someone title a volume of poetry more fitting of a history book? And why was that name so familiar to her? As she stood there, tapping her finger to her head, she suddenly realized where she'd seen that name. Lord Archibald had provided a list of friends that would be in attendance at their ball, in order to insure their success. But he had also been evasive about whether or not Lord Bass had agreed to dance with her. Best to be prepared, Blair mused, and without another thought, she pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside her version of heaven.

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Chuck stared out the window of his carriage as his acquaintance, Graham Kerrington, Baron Atwood, droned on and on about his newest horses. As he closed his eyes, Chuck again wondered at the wisdom of offering Atwood a ride to Piccadilly. They had been friendly during their days at Eton, but Graham had attended Cambridge, whereas he and Nate attended Oxford. But they had started to run into one another more and more frequently over the past couple of years, and now ran in the same set. Over a late lunch at White's, Graham had mentioned running over to Hatchards to purchase Humphrey's newest volume of poetry, as a sign of support.

Graham's casual comment served to remind Chuck of his conversation with Nate about Miss van der Woodsen and Miss Waldorf's come out ball. Nate had staunchly refused to tell Miss Waldorf about Chuck's decision, citing that if Chuck could remember the girl, then he could pen the apology note himself. Nate was unwilling to be what he deemed the _bearer of unnecessary bad news_. Chuck still felt unease about crying off on partnering Miss Waldorf for her first waltz. He had rationalized that it would be unseemly for him to dance at a debutante ball, due to his well known disdain for young misses. Still, he couldn't help but ruminate on the sweetness of Blair, and was practically overcome with guilt—an emotion he rarely felt. It was in that moment Chuck decided to send her a present attached with a note of apology. With her zest for the written word, he couldn't think of a more appropriate place to procure said gift than Hatchards. He couldn't deny the strange, yet albeit very real connection he felt to her, she inspired him to _feel_ things.

As the carriage came to a halt, Atwood's talent for stating the obvious reared its head. "Well, I do believe we've arrived!"

Chuck merely nodded and waited for Atwood to exit first. As they entered the bookstore together, the bell overhead rang, temporarily drowning out Atwood's compliments of the prominent display of Humphrey's book in the window. Through all his blustering, somewhere from the shop, the most lovely, lyrical voice wafted through the air. "I must confess, Greek mythology is my current weakness. I was relieved that you had these volumes! Didn't you find the riddle of the Sphinx to be quite clever?"

Chuck craned his neck to find the source of the soothing voice. Women were rarely seen at Hatchards, and when they were, they had the tendency to be less than pleasant to look at. As his eyes raked through the shop, they finally rested on the culprit's back. She had the most luxurious dark brown hair arranged into a loose bun. His hands itched to pull out the pins and languidly run his fingers through those curls. As she carried on a lighthearted dialogue with the clerk, she began walking backwards. He froze as he heard her laugh tinkling at something the clerk had said. And before Chuck could find his voice or move, she stepped directly into him. His hand shot out, catching her by the elbow before she fell to the floor. The frisson of electricity he felt, even through her thick, wool redingote caused both to jump, her parcel of books spilling onto the floor.

With a look of chagrin on her face and a lightness in her voice she said, "My goodness, I am so sorry, I really should pay attention to where I'm—"

Her voice grinded to a halt as she looked up and their eyes locked—her intake of breath unmistakable.

Chuck was rendered speechless—she was the most exquisite creature he had ever seen. She had the deepest brown eyes that seemed to peer directly into his soul. He was drowning in her, in the sea of brown. As he continued to catalogue her features, he found himself short of breath. She was _so_ mesmerizing with her perfectly shaped red lips and the porcelain hue of her skin. Before Chuck could say a word, she wrenched herself from his grasp, grabbed her fallen books and ran out the door.

"Who's the girl?" Atwood asked as he walked up to a dazed Chuck.

"I have no idea," Chuck answered as he turned to watch her through the window. She had scurried across the street and was almost at the end of the block when she glanced back. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and he was convinced the longing in her eyes mirrored his. She turned back around and disappeared into a shop. Without further invitation, he followed in pursuit.

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Blair felt like she was submerged, that she couldn't breathe. From the minute her eyes had seen Chuck Bass, her brain had ceased functioning. It was all so surreal, as though she were sleepwalking. She somehow managed to find herself against the far wall of Madame Fournier's shop and hoped that Serena wouldn't be ready to leave just yet. She needed to calm herself and assess what had just happened. She had finally made contact with Chuck Bass! Again her head started to spin and she was so thoroughly overwhelmed that in the midst of starting her multiplication tables, in order to regain some semblance of sanity, she failed to hear the door open. The sound of the shop girls swooning and female patrons tittering should have signaled _his_ entry into the shop.

Chuck felt a sense of déjà vu as he searched for the mysterious goddess that had just left him at Hatchards. Again his eyes hungrily sought out the minx that had caused his stomach to flutter. Near a mirror at the rear of the shop, he spotted the dark crown of curls. As he prowled towards her, a mousy looking attendant summoned up the courage to ask, "My lord, could we offer you any assistance?"

Chuck flashed a slow smile. "My interest has definitely been piqued. Your help, however, is not required."

"My lord?" The confused shop girl asked. Before she could say anything further, Chuck began walking towards the object of his fascination. _Minx_, he'd decided to call her, as he noted how her dark brown curls and navy redingote contrasted beautifully against the rich jewel tones of the bolts of fabric that lined the shelves in front of her. As he drew closer to his target, he found himself at a loss at what to say. She had yet to detect his presence, and his ears strained to catch her mumbling to herself. She stood with her books hugged to her chest, quietly chanting, "19 times 19 is 361...19 times 18 is 342…19 times 17 is 323..."

Momentary confusion assailed Chuck, unsure if he should be slighted or amused that _Minx_ was reciting multiplication tables. His eyes were drawn to the glorious nape of her neck on display, begging his lips and teeth to mark both her milky skin and her as his. As he drew closer, the clean and pure scent of apple blossoms besieged his senses, beginning the permanent imprint into his mind. His eyes latched onto an impeccable, royal purple woven silk, with a silver threaded pattern. He reached out to finger the fine silk, and his left hand rested against the wall, effectively trapping his prey within a loose embrace. It was her gasp that gave away the moment she sensed his presence. A low chuckle escaped as he leaned in even closer, his body framing hers.

The silk was cool and luxurious to the touch. He couldn't help but wish to inspect both the fabric and _Minx_ even more closely. In her nervousness, she angled herself against him, her hip brushing his. Unconsciously, his hand dropped from the wall and fell to her waist, as he imagined her draped in nothing but the fabric as he slowly peeled it off of her. He unraveled the bolt slowly, using it to anchor her body against to his. Chuck gave into the temptation of stroking her cheek through the silk, and from the mirror he watched her eyes close as she turned her cheek into his palm. With his lips just millimeters away, his warm breath hovered around her ear as he murmured, "Something this beautiful deserves to be seen on someone worthy of its beauty."

Blair was inundated from the combination of him lightly stroking her hip and his lips a whisper away from touching her skin. She shivered as she absorbed the sensation of being so close to Chuck. As improper as this was, she allowed herself to simply enjoy it. When she felt him ease away, her eyes flew open. The warmth that had bathed her vanished, and as she turned, he was walking away. Again she shivered, she had not expected to have such a magnetic and physical reaction to him, nothing had prepared her for this.

She couldn't help but stare after him, unable to process what happened in the past quarter of an hour. Standing at the counter, idly toying with the transcendent fabric, he stood patiently waited for a clerk. Blair noted that he was even more impressive in stature today than he had been when she was eleven. The cut of his coat, the broadness of his shoulders, the curve of his jaw line, only served to enhance his appeal. She could not stop gazing at him.

"Blair! We're late! Mother is going to kill me!" Serena said as she pulled on her sleeve and jostled her from her daze. Serena grabbed her hand and dragged her out of the shop. Blair peered over her shoulder for a final glimpse at Chuck Bass.

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The next morning brought utter chaos to the van der Woodsen townhouse. With the ball that evening, every servant was working at maximum capacity. Eleanor, Lily, Serena and Blair were breakfasting, trying to treat today as though it was any other day. With the grueling preparations to come, sustenance was a must. Blair sat at the table, yesterday's memory of her chance encounter with Lord Bass resonating heavily in her mind.

Her skin flushed as she remembered the light but firm pressure of his hand stroking her hip. She was convinced he had somehow branded her. When she would close her eyes, she could almost feel his hand still hovering, his warm breath tickling her ear. The gravelly murmur of his voice had hypnotized her, and it was a lovely symphony she wanted to hear over and over again. She was sure that he hadn't recognized her when she had tripped over him at Hatchards, but his forwardness in following her into Madame Fournier's left her wondering. The conversation between Lily and Eleanor over Blair's escort seemed strained, as though they were making light of the fact that they were still uncertain who she would first waltz with.

The tension in the room was broken by Vanya, the van der Woodsen's butler, clearing his throat. As the quartet of women turned to look at him, the parcel in his hands could not be mistaken. As he positioned himself next to her chair, he said, "The Marquess of Stanhope has delivered this for you, Miss Blair."

She bit her lip and reined in the impulse to jump up in excitement and dance around the room. She smiled politely at Vanya as she reached for the package. He remembered her! There was no other explanation for the arrival of a gift. "Thank you, Vanya. I wonder what this could be?"

"B! Do you think this is his way of signaling his intent to partner you?" Serena asked excitedly.

"The Marquess? Blair, have you met him before?" Eleanor probed.

Before Blair could even open her mouth, Serena started relaying the details of Easter Sunday, eight years ago. As Eleanor and Lily listened to Serena's truncated, incomplete version, she carefully began to unwrap the package, saving the note for last. The sight of a beautiful leather-bound journal greeted Blair, and she reverently fingered the stitching. Just as she was about to start reading the letter, Serena interjected, "Wait, didn't he send you a gift back then, too? It was that beautiful carved trinket box with the butterflies, wasn't it? I had completely forgotten about that!"

"So that's where that came from," Eleanor said, almost to herself, as though she had just solved a mystery.

Blair simply smiled and focused on reading the letter. Her mother was entirely too perceptive, and it was best for her to say as little as possible if she wanted to avoid later being questioned about it in great detail.

"Perhaps this will be your first suitor of the season! If I recall Nathaniel's stories correctly, Lord Bass is definitely not the sentimental type. Don't keep us in suspense, Blair! What does he say?" Lily inquired.

Noting that the glow warming Blair's cheeks was no longer present, Eleanor glared at Lily for her obtuseness. "Darling, why don't you let me see that?"

Blair wordlessly handed the note over, relieved not to have to give voice to the candied yet heartbreaking words. With a glance at her daughter's impassive face, Eleanor softened her tone, "Blair? Would you like me to read it?"

A nod was signaled, and Serena's happy eyes turned worried, as she reached out to hold Blair's hand as Eleanor read aloud,

"_Miss Waldorf—_

_I was delighted when Viscount Hadley informed me that you were in town for the London season and your come out. However, I have the misfortune of informing you that I will be unable to partner you in your first waltz, or any dance this evening. Last night, I twisted my foot as I exited my carriage. The doctor has advised me to refrain from dancing for the next week or so, and preferably to remain off foot. As a token of my sincerest apology, I offer you this journal, as I recall you took immense joy in reading. And despite the doctor's words, I will be in attendance to lend my support for your monumental evening. I have entrusted Lord Archibald to find you an impeccable replacement. I look forward to renewing our acquaintance this evening._

_Your servant, _

_Chuck Bass_

Prettily written, despite the rather late notice, don't you agree?" Eleanor broke the silence that had descended on the room when she had finished. "At least he will still be in attendance, despite his injury. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. Although, perhaps we should find a suitable alternative, in case we do not see eye to eye with Viscount Hadley's version of 'impeccable'?"

Blair forced a polite smile but remained speechless. Pouting was not going to change the circumstances, and she couldn't help but wonder if he had been toying with her in the shop or if he was toying with her now. It seemed as though this dream of hers was not going to come to fruition. Despite the thoughtfulness of the gift, the news that accompanied it, had not been. Finally she answered, "Yes, Mother, that might best."

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_**tbc**_

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For Noirreigne, who _gets_ my kind of crazy, and beta'd this because she is amazing.

For the reviewers and readers, your kind words and thoughts are appreciated—I blush and I thank you.


	4. ch 3: third time's the charm

A quick rapt on the door was the only warning Blair had before her mother swept into her bedroom.

"Blair, you're not napping," Eleanor observed, as she sat down on the bed next to her daughter.

"I'm sorry Mother, I know you wanted me to have a lie down for tonight, but I've been a bit restless and unable to sleep," Blair offered apologetically. She didn't want to tell her mother that she was heartbroken by the note from Lord Bass.

"I gather you're still upset about the note? Are you concerned that without the Marquess your come out will be less than successful?"

"No, of course not! I just thought it would've been the best way to cast a net for potential suitors. Surely the girl that manages to have Chuck Bass partner her for her come out, must have something _special_ to recommend her," she defended, even though all she wanted was to throw herself into her mother's lap and cry at the injustice of it all. She had waited eight years for her magical moment with Lord Bass, and because of a mild injury, her dreams were shattered. Blair wished she could tell her mother how she had made a complete cake of herself in front of him yesterday. The child in her wanted to dig out her book of fairy tales, hidden in her dressing trunk, and be soothed by having her mother read them to her.

"You don't need Chuck Bass to be special, Blair, you do know that don't you?" Eleanor asked, concerned.

"I'm plain, I don't sparkle. I'm not like Serena," Blair said quietly.

"And thank goodness for that! She is a dear child, but how could _anyone_ prefer _her_ to _you_? You are my darling girl, and no one could compete with you," Eleanor said dismissively.

Blair looked up at her mother in shock. "But—what? You're always comparing me to her! It's always 'Serena this' or 'Serena looks amazing in that' or 'look at Serena's hair'!"

Eleanor reached out a hand and tucked a wayward curl behind Blair's ear. "You, my daughter are the epitome of beauty, intelligence and grace. It would serve no purpose for me to lord that over everyone's head. I never flatter you, because I wanted you to turn out exactly the way you did—not ordinary, but _extraordinary_. Besides, I often say it for Serena's benefit, her father and his wanderlust have dragged her, Lily and Eric all over the world, just because he feels like it. Thankfully Eric's at Eton now, but can you imagine how dreadful it is for Serena, that her father won't leave Paris for her come out?"

Blair let herself be pulled into her mother's embrace. In a shy voice she asked, "I know it is rather late, but do you think you could let me wear white tonight? The gown you made before we came to London will work nicely."

Eleanor shook her head and said, "What is your fixation with wearing white? While it might be _de rigueur_ for debutantes to wear white, it will make more of a fashion statement for you to do otherwise. Plus, when the ton sees how perfect that dusty rose offsets your dark hair and eyes, it'll have the mothers dragging their daughters to Madame Thierry's in the morning!"

"But this isn't about the business! This is about me! Lily is letting Serena wear white, and Serena is two years older than me!" Blair cried. "I don't want to be a spectacle tonight! Why does the business have to come before me?"

"The business would _never_ come before you. What you are failing to recognize is that this purpose does serve _you_, the advertisement that the shop will receive is just a bonus. I don't want you to blend in, I designed the dress with the intention of making you stand out. The fabric is luxurious, the color rich, yet still youthful enough not to offend. My reputation alone will demand that my daughter not wear an insipid common dress. I want this night to be as perfect as possible, Blair, and I'm asking you to trust my decision on this," Eleanor said. "You are all I have in this world that matters to me—your best interests are at the root of this all."

How could she respond to such a declaration? Blair knew arguing any further would just upset them both. And as she gazed as the lovely dress hanging from the wardrobe, she couldn't argue with her mother's logic. The dress represented the best of Eleanor's skills—it was just the right amount of daring with that combination of the fabric, color and style. Blair knew that this dress would only flatter her and lend credence to the whispers that she was by far the best dressed debutante of the season. "I suppose you are right, Mother."

"I'm always right!" Eleanor declared with a look of pride.

"In _this_ case, I suppose," Blair teased. But with a sincere, yet more serious smile, she whispered, "Thank you, Mother."

Eleanor stroked Blair's hair softly and said, "Of course, my child. Now, at least try and get some rest, there is a long, long evening ahead of you."

And just as quickly as Eleanor had entered, she left. Blair curled up on her side across the bed. The conversation with Eleanor had been illuminating, and it warmed her heart to know that there was a method to her mother's madness. But Eleanor's words still rang in her head, _You don't need Chuck Bass to be special_. Perhaps her mother was foolish enough to think so, but she knew otherwise. _Chuck Bass_, was going to make or break her season, whether she wanted him to or not. The mortification rolled over her, as she again recalled their meeting. He must think that she was the most veritable goose, and entirely too easy to toy with.

_I will not be weak_, she thought, as she took in calming breath after calming breath in an attempt to relax. This time, Blair was determined she would be herself, and not the gasping, breathless chit who could not string two words together. The Blair Waldorf that Chuck Bass would meet at the ball that evening would be no schoolroom miss, she would be polished, refined and witty.

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The brightly lit van der Woodsen townhome, greeted Chuck as he stepped out of his carriage. The summer heat had wound down and a cool fall breeze was in the air. He stood for a moment, and admired the unexpected charm that the lanterns lining the path added. If Chuck surmised correctly, than Nathaniel was already inside, attending to Serena—excuse me, _Miss van der Woodsen_, he snorted.

As much of a fuss as Chuck had made about the ball and the waltz, he actually didn't mind it at all. The more he thought about it, the truer the words he had hastily penned to Miss Waldorf became. He really was happy to renew their previous acquaintance. If fortune had smiled down on Miss Blair Waldorf, than she would be as beautiful as she had been intelligent. Their conversation had been one of the most entertaining conversations he'd had—he was looking forward to chatting with her again. It would be an ironic twist, but if she were as interesting now as she had been then, he would be willing to don on the role of protective older brother.

Careful to walk with somewhat of a pronounced limp, he made his way inside. His heart sped up at the thought of possibly running into _Minx_ tonight. He couldn't stop the grin that crossed his face as he recreated her image in his mind. But it would be for the best if he didn't see her here, since his fib would surely cost him the opportunity to dance with her. Besides, if he waited until tomorrow to see her, and it only whetted his appetite further, it would confirm his suspicions that their albeit brief encounter was the beginning of something more.

After he had paid for the fabric, he had turned, expecting to find her where he left her—in the corner of the shop. When he realized she was gone, the sense of panic he experienced was overwhelming, until he realized that he could just ask a shop girl for her information. That was when inspiration had struck him, and with the thought of creating a game, he had scripted a note, and issued orders that it be delivered to _Minx_. To add to his own torment, he had tamped down the urge to find out her name or where she was staying. His pursuit would be made all the more sweet if he had to unravel the mystery.

Chuck entered the large ballroom, and as usual was obvious to all the whispers that surrounded him. He was too busy trying to figure out what his little moppet looked like now.

"_Is that the Marquess of Stanhope? What did Miss van der Woodsen and Miss Waldorf do to get him to show up?"_

"_Lord Bass, is even more handsome than described, I think I'm going to faint."_

"_Do you think he'll ask anyone to dance?"_

"_He must only be here because Viscount Hadley is here, I have it on good authority that they are the closest of friends."_

"_Has hell frozen over? Is Chuck Bass really here tonight?"_

The room was abuzz at his entrance, the gossip and tittering escalating rapidly. As Chuck surveyed the room for both Nate and Miss Waldorf, his eyes were drawn to a dainty woman of similar size to _Minx_, draped in a dusty rose fabric, her dark brown curls tumbling down her back. And like a moth to a flame, he couldn't help but gravitate towards her.

He began his trek to cross the room, hoping that despite the crush that the ball was, it wouldn't take him more than a few minutes to reach her. Most of the guests were shocked to see him present, and it prevented him from having to engage in anything more than a nod or a quick exchange. Chuck drew closer to his target and pieces of her conversation floated to his ears. The melodic timbre of her voice was like a siren's song, leading him to his fall. Just as she walked by the alcove he had taken refuge in, Chuck drawled out, "Excuse me."

_Minx _turned slowly and dropped into a respectful curtsey as she said, "Lord Bass, how do you do?"

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, we have yet to be formally introduced," he returned with a bow. Chuck reached for her hand, and pressed his lips on her inner wrist, suckling lightly—she tasted divine.

"How's your foot?" Blair blurted out before she could stop herself. The deep baritone voice that had been haunting her for the past two days, combined with his tongue making contact to her skin had her grasping for anything to hold onto. He finally looked up at her, to her relief, halting the ministrations of his lips.

"My foot?" Chuck asked in a confused tone.

"You were walking with a limp when you entered the ballroom," Blair clarified with a raised eyebrow, proud of the control in her voice.

"If I tell you a secret, will you tell me your name?" Chuck proposed.

Blair shrugged her shoulders.

"My friend had promised Miss Waldorf that I would dance her first waltz with her," Chuck confided. Blair's eyes widened, _he did not recognize her_. "A friend of yours?"

"An acquaintance, you could say," she parried as shock pulsed through her veins.

"I agreed to attend as a favor, but refused to be forced into dancing with an awkward debutante all night."

Blair held her breath.

"But had I known you would be here, I would have gladly stood with her, so that I could have the honor to dance with you."

A sly smile played on Blair's lips. "I'm sure we could arrange something."

Chuck smirked. "What do you suggest?"

"Meet me on the terrace in a half hour. That's when they are planning on presenting Miss van der Woodsen and Miss Waldorf. While they waltz, so shall we—_outside_."

Chuck's smirk transformed into a lazy smile, and Blair had to remind herself to breathe and not get trapped in his eyes. "You still haven't told me your name."

"If you waltz as well as you flirt, perhaps I will tell you my name," Blair taunted. As she forced herself to walk away, she looked back over her should and mouthed, "Thirty minutes."

The serene smile that was plastered on Blair's face was from years of Eleanor's strict social etiquette. She continued to make her way through the room, and curtsied properly, nodded regally and answered all queries tranquilly. Meanwhile, her mind raced, and for that she was grateful. The knowledge that Chuck Bass had lied to her in order to avoid dancing with her had been monumentally crushing. Fortunately her face betrayed none of her displeasure, as she had rallied and come up with an interesting punishment for him.

Part of her wished to laugh out loud triumphantly at the thought that she had bested Lord Bass. The other part of her wished she had not idolized him as much as she had—it was inevitable that his shortcomings would surface. It was just that he had been so considerate and affable when he had comforted her all those years ago. With a childish sense of satisfaction, she smirked at the image of him waiting for her on the balcony, only to be kept waiting and waiting. It would be her victory to lock eyes with him as he searched for her and saw her waltzing with someone else. How she wished she could see the look on his face when he realized that she and girl from the shop were one.

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Chuck had limped around the room at his leisure, looking for Nate, when finally he chose to give up. If he waited long enough, he was certain that Nate would come find him. Within minutes of his leaning against a pillar near the doors to the terrace, his friend approached. It was the smugness that radiated off of Chuck that caused Nate to arch a brow and ask, "So, who's the lady?"

"In my dreams, but soon to be in my arms," Chuck crowed.

"A new conquest?" laughed Nate.

"I'm uncertain," Chuck paused. "She strangely feels like something more than _just_ a conquest."

"What? Who are you and what have you done to my friend, Chuck Bass?"

"Nathaniel, you are beside yourself," Chuck said coolly. "I'm not suggesting that I wish to join _you_ in the ranks of near matrimony. I'm merely stating that my interest in _Minx_ is more than just physical, for now."

"_Minx_? You use pet names now?"

"This discussion is closed, Nathaniel," Chuck said tersely.

Nate stared at Chuck and noted the vein pulsing in his temple. The once cocky smile had been wiped completely from his face, and cold, almost menacing look had replaced it. When did the tenor of the discussion change? If he recalled correctly, Chuck _had_been rather moody ever since discovering of his engagement to Serena. With a sigh, Nate opted to change the subject, "I saw you speaking with Miss Waldorf, did you at least apologize?"

"Miss Waldorf?" Chuck asked stupidly.

"Yes, Miss Waldorf. Did you apologize to her?"

"What? Miss Waldorf? When?" Chuck demanded.

Nate rolled his eyes. Leave it for Chuck to be difficult when he was just trying to alleviate the odd tension. "You spoke to her in the alcove, you seemed quite taken with her—you were smiling not smirking."

"The exquisite creature in pink?" Chuck mused.

"Chuck! Are you even listening to me? Yes, that was Miss Waldorf."

"Well, well, well…someone is all grown up."

"Chuck?"

"A change in plans are in order, Nathaniel."

"Change? Plans?" Nate parroted.

"I've decided that it simply wouldn't do to break Miss Waldorf's heart. As you said, I should help 'launch her into society'. I'll dance her first waltz with her," Chuck announced.

"Didn't you already send her a note this morning, falsely claiming that you were instructed to keep off your feet?" Nate snickered. "I'd like to see your silver tongue in action, untangling yourself out of this mess."

"Do you doubt my abilities?" Chuck scoffed.

Nate reflected for a moment before mulling aloud, "Well…she _did_ look as though she forgave you when you were chatting her up. But who better to convince her of a miraculous recovery than you?"

"Who better, indeed!" Chuck smirked.

"I don't know if Miss Waldorf will forgive you for _lying_, but nonetheless, good luck on your suicide mission."

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.

Blair stood calmly next to Serena and Lord Archibald, waiting for Lord Humphrey to appear. She had hoped he would join her earlier than the requisite moment just before the waltz commenced. He seemed nice enough, a bit pompous, but perfectly respectable with the cache he had from being recently published. Blair had had to restrain herself when Lord Humphrey had misquoted Shakespeare, sensing it would have only yielded unfavorable results. Either he would have insisted on being correct, which he most certainly was not, and she would be forced to feign recalling incorrectly, which she was loathe to do. The other occurrence would be Lord Humphrey's delight in her ability to correct him, and that would most likely draw undue attention from him—she had no wish to encourage him in that arena. Plus, Lord Humphrey had introduced her to his sister, Jenny, someone she had felt an instant dislike for. Blair thought it best to keep her distance from both Humphreys', one for his vanity, the other for her cloying fakeness.

As the lovebirds continued their inane chattering, Blair suppressed the urge to stamp her feet. With a sigh, her eyes discreetly scanned the room in search of her partner, only to find him standing with Lord Bass, who was staring straight at her. The amusement in his eyes signaled that her jig was up—he _knew_. And in abject horror, there was nothing for Blair to do but watch helplessly as Lord Bass continued his deep discussion with Lord Humphrey.

Blair's heart thundered. Her eyes _must_ be deceiving her, surely there was no way that he was doing what she suspected. A yelp escaped from her as the music signaled the end of the country dance and Lord Bass was beelining straight towards her. The pounding of her heart started to increase tenfold, drowning out all other sounds.

With a proper bow, Lord Bass said, "Miss Waldorf, I believe this waltz is mine?"

As she felt his hand on her waist, and placed her hand in his, she willed herself not to faint. It simply would not do. With all the temerity she could muster, she kicked him in the shin, _hard_.

Chuck barely managing to bite back a bark. "Minx, I'll only warn you once, do that again and you will find yourself on the floor. I imagine that would not bode well for everyone here to think of you as some sort of klutz?"

Blair looked up, her eyes ablaze as she seriously contemplated whether or not kicking him again would be worth that temporary embarrassment. How dare he think that he could just steal this waltz back from her? But soon enough, reality sank in, _this is my moment_, she thought. Regardless of how this all came to be, she realized that this was what she had been waiting eight years for. Behaving like a petulant child would only shame her to herself later. So Blair did what was called for in the situation and improvised, and applied herself to being utterly charming.

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.

Despite the fact that the ball had ended in the wee hours of the morning, the women were up early, recalling the success of last night. It was a similar sight to yesterday's breakfast, except for the absence of stress. Blair was again lost in thoughts of Chuck Bass. She understood why the English had originally called the waltz so daring—why permission was required at Almack's. The waltz was seduction on a ballroom floor, especially given the right partner. Her skin flushed as she remembered just how well Lord Bass had moved, the way his hips and thighs had touched hers. He had so effortlessly twirled her around, making her really feel like a fairy tale princess.

Blair had had to remind herself throughout the entire dance to keep her wits about her, every time she looked into his almond shaped eyes, she felt like she might swoon. But strangely, there was something about him that made it quite easy to talk to him. She had pulled from her carefully compiled list of interesting facts and stories that she had accumulated over the years. Even though his power to incapacitate her remained, she had thoroughly prepared for the eventuality of having to charm him. Her spirits had buoyed when he had been so lost in their repartee that he hadn't realized the dance had ended, and she triumphantly managed to slink away from him. She had used every ounce of discipline to evade him for the rest of the evening, surprised that he had stayed long past what was required, and did not leave until Lord Archibald had.

Just like the morning before, Vanya interrupted her thoughts at breakfast. "This was delivered from Madame Fournier's shop yesterday. It arrived just as you sat down to dinner last evening."

Serena and Blair looked at one another and simultaneously asked each other, "Did you order something?" "Did you forget something?"

Vanya stood next to Blair, a package in hand. "I believe, Miss Blair, this is for you."

Blair frowned at the butler. "Are you sure? I did not purchase a single thing while we were there."

"To the enchanting vision with brown curls—," Vanya read from the card. "I believe, Miss Blair, that means you."

"Thank you, Vanya," Blair said, dismissing him as she blankly stared at the parcel. As she unwrapped the paper, she felt before she saw what was inside. The trio of gasps confirmed that it was indeed the royal purple silk with silver threading. Blair wondered at what moment last night he realized that she, Blair Waldorf, would be the recipient of this gift. As Eleanor, Lily and Serena unfolded the bolt of fabric, they gushed at the quality of it. They were deeply discussing what would be the best fashion to utilize the fabric, when Blair started to read the card.

_To the enchanting vision with brown curls—_

_I find myself captivated by both your intellect and beauty. I would welcome the chance to further our acquaintance. Although we have not formally been introduced, would you consider a ride in my phaeton around 3pm on Thursday?_

_Your humble servant,_

_Chuck Bass_

_Marquess of Stanhope_

"Blair, who sent you this glorious fabric?" Lily asked enviously. As wealthy as the van der Woodsens' were, the excess of splurging on such a fabric was an extremely rare and seldom granted treat.

"Chuck Bass," mumbled Blair, as she rubbed the letters of his name on the card. As much as her daydreams and girlish fantasies allowed, she couldn't have imagined the relative ease in which she had seemingly gained some type of interest from him. She was a bit overwhelmed that she would not have to work or fight for an opportunity to spend time with him, _if she so chose_.

"The Marquess?" Eleanor laughed. "Two days in a row and two gifts. Blair, you do the Waldorf name proud."

"Blair, this is too wonderful! Charles has never allowed himself to be attached to any woman who isn't married or widowed. His list of paramours are unparalleled, and the only complaint I have ever heard from a past conquest was that their time with him was not long enough. My dear girl, this could be the match of the decade!" Lily exclaimed.

"B! What have you not told me? Are you keeping secrets from your _sister_?" Serena teased with an underlying note of curiosity.

Blair's cheeks flushed as she explained, "I honestly don't know how it happened. I did accidentally run him over on my way out of the book shop—"

"Miss Blair, you have a visitor, Lord Bass is in the drawing room," Vanya interrupted.

Blair stood up, but then paused for a moment, and then chose to sit back down. With a mask of indifference on her face, she said to Vanya, "Tell Lord Bass that I am currently indisposed and it would be best if he came back later, _during normal calling hours_."

Eleanor reached out and patted her hand. "Darling, why don't we let Lord Bass be of use to us. Have him wait. Either he will leave without having seen you and be highly irritated; or we'll time his departure with the arrival of other callers. You'll win either way, and nothing will be a more delightful morsel of gossip than spotting the Marquess calling on you _early_ morning."

Blair leaned over and kissed her mother's cheek and whispered, "I _must_ be the luckiest girl in the world to have you as _my_ mother."

"You're not _really_ going to let the Marquess stew in the drawing room, are you?" Lily gasped.

Eleanor tore her gaze away from her daughter to glare at Lily. "Of course we are, don't be daft!"

"But why would you do that?" Serena wondered, looking back at forth between mother and daughter, who mirrored each other—rolling their eyes with their arms crossed.

"Serena, dear, because he needs to be taught a lesson," Eleanor said, as though that explained everything.

"A lesson? Eleanor, surely you are not playing some game?" Lily interrupted.

"Of course this is a game!" Eleanor hissed. "Lily, _Chuck Bass_ is currently cooling his heels in your drawing room before _ten-thirty_ in the morning! Need I remind you that just yesterday he sent a rejection note to Blair? Only to somehow miraculously be recovered in time to partner her last night? And now this very morning, we discover he sent a package to a mystery brunette—_Blair_. Pray tell me, Marquess or not, does my daughter need to go running to him the second he appears? I think not. If you are so concerned about offending the Marquess, than _you_ can go keep him company, Blair and I would like to finish our breakfast."

The thunderstruck look on both Serena and Lily's faces caused Blair to burst out in mirthful laughter. Eleanor joined in a moment later.

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Chuck stared so hard out the window that his eyes had lost focus. The only thing he could see or think of was _her_. When he realized that Blair Waldorf would be the recipient of his impulsive gift last night, he was overwhelmed with a _somethingness_ that he could not quite define. It was as though he were nineteen years old again, and taken in by a charming little moppet, anxious to protect her from the outside world. Blair had woven an inexplicable web around him, but instead of struggling to break free, Chuck was wrapping it tighter around himself. If ever there was a time to question his sanity, _now_ would be it.

He had gone to bed and awoke with his mind flooded with thoughts of her—the way she had thrown a smile over her shoulder as she walked away from him after plotting to trick him. He had been unable to discern what had caused the fiery shin-kicking hoyden to transform into the most enticing angel. After he had issued his warning, she had just looked up adoringly at him, and proceeded to dazzle him with her wit and candor. She had managed to keep him so on his toes that he had kept dancing with her, long after the music had ended. Blair had had to tug her hand out of his to alert him that the waltz was in fact, over. She had deftly managed to avoid a second dance, or even to speak with him again. All night it had continued like a game of cat and mouse, with Blair keeping him just out of reach.

Chuck looked at his pocket watch and saw it was five to eleven. He groaned upon the realization that not only had he been unable to wait a mere four hours for the proposed phaeton ride, he had also been kept waiting for over twenty-five minutes. Vanya had popped his head in earlier, asking if he would like some tea, as Miss Waldorf was currently indisposed but would be down shortly. He had shook his head and simply continued to look out the window.

She was going to make him work for her, he observed, and again he was smiling, not smirking, but _smiling,_ as he had been all morning. He had even woken up with a smile on his face, and like a lovesick fop he dutifully went to the flower cart himself. He had to physically stop his valet from running the errand, before selecting the violet pansies. They were a perfect contrast of dark and light, and they reminded him of her…a center splash of darkness, but delicate light dominated.

It was Chuck's turn to be taken off-guard, as Blair's footsteps were muffled by the thick Oriental rug, and he didn't hear her approach.

"My lord?"

He was jolted awake, and as he turned to the sound of her voice, he deftly kept both bouquets behind him. She sunk into a deep curtsey, and he returned with a bow, "Miss Waldorf."

"Good morning, my lord. My mother will be joining us shortly."

"Then let me take this brief moment to present these to you," he said, as he pulled both bouquets from behind his back, placed the yellow daffodils on the table, and handed her the violet pansies.

Blair first glanced at Chuck, then at the table and finally to the flowers in his hands with a slight wrinkle in her brow. She reached out to accept the flowers, and wondered aloud, "Thank you?"

As she bent her head to sniff the flowers, he leaned over to whisper in her ear, "You occupy my thoughts."

"Excuse me?" Blair's head snapped back up and she looked into his light brown eyes that were dancing in amusement.

"You occupy my thoughts," he smirked. "That's what pansies mean." He reached out and took her hand, brought it to his mouth, and as he lightly kissed each fingertip, "That—you—occupy—my—thoughts."

Blair stood frozen as Chuck stepped away and returned to his post by the window. Before Blair could even respond, Eleanor had swept into the room, "My lord."

Chuck bowed deeper than what was called for, and reached for Eleanor's hand, "Lady Waldorf, how do you do?"

.

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At Eleanor's insistence, Lord Bass was escorting Blair for a turn in the van der Woodsens' garden. While it had been more than amusing to watch Chuck attempt to finagle her mother's agreement for a ride in his phaeton to Hyde's Park, Blair had truly been a bit frightened to go. Having spent the past half hour observing the flawless manner in which Chuck had delivered both subtle and pointed compliments, she felt her resolve disintegrating. Not only had he started out by charming Eleanor by presenting her with the bouquet of yellow daffodils, he had managed to cajole both of them into laughter by dispensing humorous and borderline scandalous _on dits_ about the crème de la crème of the ton. Chuck was entirely too stealthy for his own good, and even Eleanor seemed to relax and enjoy his company.

Blair, however, was highly suspicious at what motives he possessed. She had been unable to process the whirlwind of the past two days. More and more questions popped in her head as she tried to work out the timeline between Chuck, herself and her apparent doppelganger from the Hatchards. Blair was certain that she couldn't just cave to Lord Bass' desires if she were to stand out in his mind permanently. Not, of course, that she'd decided that that was what she wanted. She told herself that until he earned back her good graces, she would indulge in her delusion that perhaps she no longer wanted Chuck Bass.

As their quiet and slow pace around the garden commenced, Chuck pulled her hand into the crook of his arm, and rested his fingers over hers. It was such a pleasant yet non-overwhelming sensation of simply being. Blair wished to savor this moment for as long as possible and therefore kept silent. He led her to a bench and she sat down, lifting her face up towards the sun to luxuriate in its warmth. Something must have called out to him, because when her eyes fluttered open, she saw that his eyes were fixated on her mouth.

Chuck leaned down, closing the distance between their lips, millimeter by millimeter. Just when Blair thought she would perish if his lips didn't touch hers, she saw that arrogant smirk cross his lips. Instinctively, she turned her head, and his lips brushed her hair, completely missing contact with any part of her skin. In a cool, collected voice, Blair intoned, "That is enough for today, Lord Bass. I believe we had dallied outside long enough."

Chuck stared after her in complete shock. As she made her way back to the library doors, it sunk in—Blair had dismissed him.

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_**tbc**_

* * *

For Noirreigne, who has become like a sister me, and beta'd this in a way that only she can.

For the reviewers and readers, who I hope will continue to allow me to take you on the long and twisted journey that has been plotted in my head. And I still smile with delight to read your thoughts.


	5. ch 4: how do i torture thee

Four days later, before dawn had broken, Chuck mounted his Arabian, Indulgence. The only time for a good gallop in the park was early in the morning before the rest of London had woken up. Ever since Blair had dismissed him, he'd been in a black and foul mood. No woman had ever affected him so much by doing so little, or perhaps by giving him nothing. Chuck was used to being pursued, not the pursuer. The discovery that her rejection had not dampened his lust for her, if anything—it had increased it, annoyed him to no end.

He refused to beg for attention as he had been driven to as a child, with his absentee parents. Yet it took a Herculean effort to restrain himself from seeking out Blair over the past four days. The first two days had blurred past him, as he chose obliteration by way of scotch—attempting to numb the feeling of rejection. Last night, it occurred to him that perhaps exercise would alleviate his emotional quandary, as the thought of bedding another woman held no appeal to him.

The biting and cool air seemed to be doing some good, until he rode past a patch of apple blossoms, and images of Blair oversaturated his mind, causing him to roar. The faster and harder he rode, the stronger the scent grew, until he simply gave in to the fact that he needed to see her.

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"Is it true that you are squiring Miss van der Woodsen and Miss Waldorf tonight?" Chuck demanded as the doors to Nate's study flung open. Nate's butler Simms, looked apologetic and horrified, trailing in Chuck's wake. Nate gave a sympathetic smile and waved a hand to dismiss Simms.

"What is this all about?" Nate asked slowly. He had heard that being around Chuck the past few days had been unbearable. And after what Serena had confided in him last night, he was sure it had to do with a certain Miss Blair Waldorf. He was a bit fascinated by the details that Serena had unveiled, as he had never been privy to this side of Chuck before—the one that was apparently thoughtful.

"I need to see her."

"See who?" Nate was going to enjoy every second of this. Chuck had always been more clever, more cunning and more observant than he. But this time, he was going to make his friend spell it out, exactly.

"Miss Waldorf."

"Why?"

"I just need to see her."

"I see."

"Where are you escorting her tonight?"

"Don't know." Nate shrugged his shoulders for effect.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Chuck snapped.

"Serena hasn't informed me which event they would prefer to attend tonight, she normally sends a letter during afternoon tea."

"Well once you figure out where, kindly have Simms forward a message to me," Chuck growled and stormed out.

Nate smirked, he was going to relish making this decision; the only question was how much further he wished to exacerbate Chuck's discomfort. As he flipped through the cards for that evening's entertainment, his grin deepened. Chuck would be entirely unamused if he found out that Serena had asked _him_ to choose which event would be the least tedious for him. The offerings for that evening were either a poetry reading at Lady Georgina Sparks home, with guest reader Daniel Humphrey, or an evening of music at Lady Elle Hamilton's with the famous soprano Valentina Olivera (the current record holder for length as Chuck's mistress, at an impressive nine days).

While on the surface the poetry reading would seem to be the safest bet, but Countess Vanessa Abrams was the committee head of the poetry group, and to say that she was obsessed with Chuck might be an understatement. Braden Roberts, 2nd son of the Earl of Langley, had bet Chuck that he could not get the recently widowed, Countess Abrams, a veritable "ice queen" into his bed. Having had absolutely nothing better to do, Chuck had taken the wager, bedded her once and promptly lost interest, opting not to prolong their dalliance. That had been three years ago, and each time the two met, she had become bolder and bolder in her advances. Tiring of her relentless theatrics, he had chosen to travel—first to France, then Italy and finally Spain. After being gone a full year; Chuck had thought he was safe. But upon returning to his London lodgings, a naked Countess was sprawled on his bed. His annoyance piqued, Chuck had grabbed her dress, corset, garters, and stockings and unceremoniously dumped them out his third floor window. He then proceeded to grab his valet's nightshirt, forcing it over her head, and carried her down the two flights of stairs, out the door and into the street. He had slammed the door without a second thought as her shrieks had pierced through the neighborhood. That had been six months ago, and they had not run into each other since.

Lady Hamilton, however, was the polar opposite of Countess Abrams, and where Vanessa had been bold and shameless, Elle was demure and overly accommodating. It was as though she was convinced that being nice and sweet would eventually melt Chuck's ice cold heart. Nate often cringed with embarrassment as he saw her acting like a schoolroom chit, giggling with her high pitched voice. She was so amiable that it was unbearable to watch. Unsurprisingly, she too, had only lasted a single night. Chuck claimed her congeniality was suffocating, that it surely must be an act. At first, Nate had dismissed that notion, but watching her eyes narrow as she followed Chuck around the room, and the convenient coincidence that his longest tenured paramour was to perform at her home, Nate wondered if perhaps Chuck's observations were correct.

It came as no surprise that Lady Hamilton had preceded Countess Abrams, and Chuck referred to that period as "the curse of the double nineteens", and had since sworn off women under the age of twenty. It was ironic, really, as Chuck had always preferred liaisons with women of his age, or older. This "lapse in judgment" as Chuck referred to it as, had been preventable, had he stuck to his self-imposed rules. What delighted Nate even more was the fact that Miss Waldorf was just a short few weeks from turning twenty. He had yet to remind Chuck of that fact.

As he glanced again at the cards laid out in front of him, he momentarily considered the third card, before quickly tearing it in two, and hiding it in his desk. Lady Sparks it would be, she'd be the lesser of the two evils. It would be best if Chuck didn't find out about the final option, Lord and Lady Swanson's dinner party, their recently wed, yet casual acquaintance from their Eton days. He made a mental note to have his secretary send a note of apology with a gift.

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Despite Nathaniel's refusal to warn him that Countess Abrams would be present at Lady Spark's that evening, Chuck had not missed the twinkle in his eyes, and knew something was afoot. At first he had thought it was the implication that Humphrey was a would-be suitor in contention for Miss Waldorf's hand, but then the words, "poetry reading" triggered, and Chuck could not stifle a groan. He was going to have his long awaited reunion with Vanessa, the gods were clearly mocking him.

Even without an invitation to the reading, Chuck knew that Georgina would not turn him away. There was something mysteriously aloof about Lady Sparks that had always caused him to keep his distance. While they admired one another, she, like him was rather cool and reserved. They had somehow come to a silent understanding that while overtures would not be repulsed, they would neither be welcomed. She was perhaps the closest thing he would ever have to a female friend, even thought they barely spoke. Like understood like, he supposed. There was a barely discernible note of melancholy in her eyes, as though she had been deeply betrayed once upon a time, and that was too familiar to him. She had practically been a child bride to a much older husband, who had died within months of their marriage. While she was openly flirtatious, Chuck wondered out of idle curiosity just how many lovers she had had, for she was never spoken ill of or had been attached to any scandal.

As the Sparks' butler led him into the ballroom that was being used for the reading, he caught the object of his obsession being warmly embraced by the host. As he met Georgina's eyes, she raised an amused brow, and attempted to cover her smile as she quickly drew Blair into a discussion, allowing for enough time to let Chuck approach. With a gay laugh, she greeted him, "Lord Bass, what a wholly unexpected surprise!"

"Lady Sparks, a pleasure, as always," Chuck returned.

"Have you met Miss Waldorf? She is here for her first season. We were neighbors, growing up. She's practically a younger sister to me," Georgina said with a wink. Clearly she enjoyed being a spectator to his chase. Blair's face was completely blank, as though he wasn't even there. "Blair, my dear, this is Lord Bass, Marquess of Stanhope."

"How do you do, my lord," Blair said with a perfunctory curtsy. She acted as though she had never met him before.

"Now Miss Waldorf, there's no need to be shy, we're all friends here, isn't that right, Georgina? I don't know if you were at Miss Waldorf's come out, but I partnered her in her first waltz," Chuck said easily.

"Unfortunately I arrived rather late. Blair! Why didn't you tell me you and Chuck were acquainted?"

"G, I didn't say so, because we aren't really. Out of the 'kindness of his heart', Lord Bass merely did a favor for Lord Archibald as I had not had time to arrange for a partner. We barely spoke," Blair said evenly.

"I do recall that time where you couldn't stop talking about Miss Eliza Haywood and Miss Austen," Chuck drawled.

"Oh, so you know Blair rambles incessantly about her current intellectual passions? I vow she's better read than half the ton. Tsk, tsk, Blair, shame on you! You and Chuck are fast friends, if he knows all about your bluestocking ways," Georgina laughed. "Oh there's Lord Humphrey, I must attend to him. Blair, do keep Chuck company, won't you?"

And in a flash, Georgina had disappeared, leaving Blair alone with Chuck. A peeved Blair kept her lips shut, with a look of irritation in her eyes and let the silence between them stretch.

Chuck couldn't help but smile. "Are you going to say anything to me, at all?"

"Could you please do me a favor?"

"For you, anything."

"Leave me alone!"

"Anything but that, Minx."

"UGH! Isn't there someone else you could torture?"

"Probably, but I _choose_ you," Chuck smarmed.

Although Blair's expression didn't change, she couldn't help but melt a little at his words. The idea that he chose her was so reflective of her thought that fate had chosen him for her. She was still smarting from his deception, even if he had still ended up making her childhood dream come true. She had thought her dodging his attempt to kiss her would have made clear her lack of interest. Blair could admit now, that it had stung her pride a little that Chuck had seemed to give up so easily, nary sight nor sound had been heard from him for the past four days. His behavior and words were all jumbled in her mind, and she often had to stop herself from reacting to the sweetness of his words. She hadn't decided if she would forgive him yet, despite the fact that that would ruin all of her plans. "Well aren't you the charmer?"

"Minx—"

"Stop calling me that!"

"I'm sorry that I wasn't entirely truthful when I penned you the note regarding your first waltz. Had I realized that you were the exquisite creature that mowed me down at Hatchards, nothing would have prevented me from agreeing," Chuck said sincerely.

"So you admit that you lied? That you're untrustworthy?"

"Is anyone entirely trustworthy? I wouldn't trust someone who claimed to be that. But yes, I may have exaggerated."

"Well, you've apologized, and I accept. I think we're done here."

"That doesn't sound like you've accepted my apology. Why are you so upset? If I didn't know better, I would think you carried a torch for me for the past eight…" Chuck trailed off, as realization dawned upon him. Miss Waldorf had a childhood tendre for him. And the bright red flush that colored her cheeks was evidence enough. "Minx, do you _like_ me?"

"Define like," she snapped.

"Is that why your claws are out? Is that why you won't forgive me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about! I was a child when I met you, I may have been misguided. I'm glad you unveiled your true nature, it made me realize that the prince of my dreams was just that, an illusion," Blair returned hotly.

"So I'm a prince? Did you become my princess?" Chuck teased.

"You're heinous and I hate you!" Blair retorted. Her cheeks had reddened, and as he observed her biting her lip, her eyes started to water.

"Blair," Chuck said softly, as his heart stopped. She looked the unenviable combination of heartbroken and humiliated, and suddenly he realized that _he_ was the cause of this.

"I haven't given you leave to call me by name. Please, stop seeking me out, stop trying to talk to me and just leave me alone!" Blair growled as she fled his company and quickly walked over to Serena.

Chuck watched her from where he stood, as Serena whispered in her ear and Blair shook her head, wiping away a tear. He continued to watch her as he contemplated the breadth of what had been revealed. Many pieces of the puzzle that were Blair Waldorf were beginning to come together, but he also wondered if he had permanently damaged that bond that drew him to her. It was unseemly that he would be so concerned, but something told him that he had to right this wrong. Just as he thought to join Blair and Serena in the seat behind them, he saw Countess Abrams walk up to the pair with Miss Jenny Humphrey. It seemed that now would not be the best time to start making amends.

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_Hunted_. Blair felt absolutely hunted. Since the poetry reading at Georgina's house, where she had unwittingly confessed her childhood fascination with Chuck Bass _to_ Chuck Bass, she had not stopped running into him. He had appeared virtually everywhere she had been for the past seven days—as she entered Madame Thierry's for a dress fitting, she had felt someone watching her. When she turned, he had been across the street, leaning against his coach, and tipping his hat to her. Later that night, his carriage pulled up directly behind theirs and they'd been in adjoining boxes at the opera. The next morning she had gone to the lending library looking for Thomas Hobbes' _Leviathan_, as she had lost her copy. The book had been lodged on the top shelf and when she couldn't quite reach it, he had magically appeared, pulled it off the shelf, handing it to her wordlessly, and then walked away. She had seen him each of the following six nights, except for the one night Eleanor had wanted to stay in.

Blair couldn't quite figure out what Lord Bass' tactics were. He was always careful to single out and acknowledge her, but he rarely lingered. At every ball, he would politely request a dance that she would gracefully decline, her dance card being full and all. He'd give her a wry smile before excusing himself. But she'd feel his eyes following her around for the rest of the evening.

Blair let out a sigh of relief as the night's cool breeze filled the empty terrace. For the past two nights she had carefully held her thumb over the "waltz" slot on her dance card. Since her come out ball, she had danced the waltz with fourteen different men, all handsome, engaging and of good fortune. Not only had she been bored to tears, there was no spark, no element of excitement. She could not help but compare every man she danced with to Lord Bass. He had found yet another way of branding her, because no man made her feel so breathless and completely alive as she had when he had so effortlessly twirled and seduced her on the dance floor. The best way to avoid the reminder that other men did not compare to Chuck Bass was to skip waltzing altogether. She leaned against the terrace's balustrade and looked straight into the gardens.

"So I see that you are also fond of fibbing," Chuck drawled out from the shadows.

Blair swung around and saw him emerge with cheroot in hand. He stepped towards her, but remained more than a respectful distance away. "Fib, my lord?"

"Yes, earlier this evening, when I asked for your waltz—you declined. I believe you said your dance card was full, yet, here you are—not dancing and alone."

"It wasn't a fib, you just misheard me. My dance card _was_ full, I chose _not_ to waltz, with _anyone_ tonight. The rooms get rather stuffy, and night after night of dancing, sometimes I just want some air and a moment to myself," Blair defended.

"Are you hinting that I've encroached on your solitude?"

"Not hinting, merely pointing it out," Blair said tartly.

"I was out here first, one might think that you had followed me out here," Chuck observed.

"Well, no need to stay where one is not welcome, good evening, my lord," Blair retorted with a huff.

As she turned to make her way back to the ballroom, she barely heard Chuck's whisper, "You're making it quite impossible for me to apologize."

"Am I?" Blair asked, unable to resist being in his company, yet refusing to turn to face him.

"You know you are. I'm trying to make amends, serve my penance, if you will. I'd like to think that we were friends once, even if only for a few minutes," Chuck said softly.

Blair's heart skipped a beat and she felt her veins pulsing.

"I don't know what else you would like me to do to demonstrate the sincerity of my remorse. There are things you don't know…" Chuck trailed off.

"'Things I don't know'? Such as? Could it be that I was unaware that you thought me to be an 'awkward girl' and that I was a 'social obligation'? _Those _things?" Blair said heatedly.

"I admit those were a poor choice of words, I wasn't thinking. When I'm around you, sometimes my words get mixed up."

"So it's _my_ fault that you said those things?" Blair spun around to glare at him. "How did you get your reputation as being able to 'tempt anything'?"

"Reputations aren't all truth," Chuck said tightly.

"They aren't? So I shouldn't believe that it is commonly known that you think women under the age of twenty are irksome and should be seen but not heard? That your idea of commitment is a single evening, and if one should be so lucky, a few days?"

"Please, don't stop on my account. Why don't you tell me more about myself, since you seem to know _everything_ about me," Chuck scowled.

"I never said I knew everything. It's just hard to ignore the countless number of women who've come up to me, telling me how I should count myself lucky for being immune to your charms. Apparently you leave a trail of broken hearts in your wake, and no one ever really knows anything about you. They call you the 'passionate corpse' because despite your prowess in the bedroom, no one thinks you actually have a heart," Blair ranted, infusing every ounce of hurt she had felt at his hands.

"Is that what you want to learn?" Chuck said in an eerily calm voice.

"Learn what?" Blair shot back.

"Learn if my prowess in the bedroom is to your satisfaction. Do you want to know what it's like to lay naked beneath me in bed and see if I really have a heart?"

"No!" Blair denied, even though the image caused her to shiver with excitement.

Chuck walked closer to her and in a soft yet menacing voice said, "Don't flatter yourself in thinking that you know _anything_ about me. People only know what I _choose_ to let them know. I have extended you courtesies I extend to _no one_. Minx, I've _apologized_ to you, more than once—trust me when I tell you what a rarity that is. Despite my _fib_ I sent you a gift, I don't buy _anyone_ gifts. Yet, you stand here and lecture me?"

Blair froze, her eyes widening at Chuck's words.

"Do you want to know the real reason I cried off about your dance? Because despite how charming you were when you were eleven, despite the fact that I _wanted_ to help ease your way into society, whenever I recall meeting you, it always reminds me of the last time I saw my father—"

"Chuck! Are you out here?" Nathaniel called out.

Blair and Chuck's eyes were locked. She could see the quiet rage that Chuck was desperately trying to control and he was almost shaking. She cursed Viscount Hadley in her mind, she felt as though she were on the precipice of learning something real about Chuck.

"Nathaniel," Chuck said, his face now completely devoid of emotion. "Please escort Miss Waldorf inside, she's about to catch a chill."

"Of course," Nathaniel said, after looking between the pair and then offering Blair his arm.

"Good evening, my lord," Blair said.

Chuck returned a sharp nod and walked down the terrace stairs into the garden, as though he were trying to escape. As Blair watched him, she felt Lord Archibald watch her.

"Is everything fine?" Nate asked.

Blair took his arm as she glanced back, before plastering a smile on her face, "Yes, of course."

A hesitant look crossed Nate's face, as though he wanted to say something. After stopping and starting, he settled on, "Chuck seemed upset."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

With a sigh Nate said, "Miss Waldorf, if I may be frank, you are a dear friend of Serena's, and Serena is dear to me. Chuck is my closest friend, but I would be remiss if I didn't warn you of his nature."

"His nature?"

"Serena told me about your feelings for Chuck, and I've noticed you've done an admirable job keeping him at bay, but right now, you've become that toy he's always wanted but could never have, and you are just encouraging him. If you just relent and spend some time with him, he will lose interest in you eventually and leave you alone."

"You're saying I will bore him?" Blair said icily.

"Yes. I mean no!" Nate stammered. Taking a breath he continued, "I just mean that Chuck has a very short attention span. Although he's been chasing after you longer than he's ever kept a mistress."

"Really?" Blair asked, now fully curious.

Nate hit his palm against his forehead and sighed, "This is completely improper, and not at all what I was trying to say."

"How often does Lord Bass apologize?"

"Excuse me?"

"How often does Lord Bass apologize, when he's in the wrong, of course?" Blair spelled out, as though she were speaking to a child.

Nate looked at Blair and started laughing.

"What's so funny?" Blair asked irritably. Viscount Hadley was not endearing himself to her, but more and more, she could see why he was a perfect match for Serena.

"I'm sorry," Nate choked out as he tried to catch his breath. "I thought I misheard you when you used the word 'apology' and 'Chuck Bass' in the same sentence."

Arms crossed, Blair simply stared at Nate.

"He _never_ apologizes, _ever_. When we were at Eton, I would try to trick him into apologizing to me, just because I wondered what it would sound like," Nate confided, his eyes laughing. Suddenly, Nate's eyes narrowed as he asked, "Has Chuck apologized to you?"

"Maybe," Blair mumbled.

"Has he? Yes or no?"

"He's apologized more than once," Blair admitted.

"Oh, well this changes everything."

"It does?"

"Well, I figured the journal and the silk were incidental, but coupled with the apology… Miss Waldorf, perhaps it'd be best if you just forgot I had said anything."

"Why?" This was the oddest conversation she had had.

"I think I might have been entirely too presumptuous, and I do not wish to color your view of anything. So, I withdraw any of my earlier comments, and pray that you forget anything I've said."

"As you wish," Blair said after a moment. They had long since reached the doors back to the ballroom. As Lord Grainger stepped up to claim his cotillion, Blair found herself desperate to know what Chuck had been about to tell her. And the conversation with Lord Archibald had her wondering if perhaps she'd misjudged Chuck Bass completely.

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_**tbc**_

* * *

For Noirreigne, who despite being under the weather managed to beta this in her uniquely spectacular fashion.

For the reviewers and readers, thank you a million times for spending the time to read my story.


	6. ch 5: all about her mother

Eleanor had been tracking Chuck Bass and his movements for the entire evening. She wondered if something was amiss when Blair was quietly contemplative on the carriage ride home last evening. Blair had furthered her suspicions by being less bubbly this evening, her subdued reactions causing looks of concern from her many suitors. Eleanor couldn't help but notice the momentary look of longing that crossed her daughter's face after Lord Bass had passed through the ballroom and into the game room without a single glance in her direction. The tide was about to turn, and if Blair wasn't careful, she'd miss her window of opportunity.

A smile of motherly pride crossed her face as she thought of how clever and discreet Blair had been all these years. Eleanor had always thought that it had been spending that month with Serena and the van der Woodsens' that had given Blair her sense of belonging, the strength to simply be herself. She could never have imagined that all roads led back to Chuck Bass. She wondered if he knew just how much of an effect he'd had on her Blair? Chuck must have said or done something that had emboldened Blair to continue pursuing her love for the written word. If Eleanor recalled correctly, that was when Blair had gone from reading just literature, into absorbing knowledge in general. Blair the scholar, Eleanor would think to herself. Soon philosophy, politics, theory, science and even mathematics lessons were demanded by Blair. When Eleanor had held the caveat that those lessons would be paired with the pianoforte, voice, watercolor and needlepoint, Blair hadn't batted an eye and agreed to them all. And now Eleanor understood the _why_—Blair had been preparing herself to be irresistible to Chuck Bass.

The attempt of controlled restraint Blair displayed when reacting to anything Chuck Bass had revealed everything to Eleanor. She had fully intended to absolve herself of any true involvement, but watching the pair of fools waste time, perhaps a tiny bit of meddling was called for.

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Chuck wondered whether or not there was a drop of lucidity left in his mind when it came to _her_. He had almost convinced himself to stay home that evening, but it was the memory of Blair's eyes that forced him to repeat this torture yet again. The anger in her eyes had changed instantly to curiosity, concern even, as he was about to open up to her about his father last night. If there was only one thing he was certain about her, it was that he always had her complete attention, even in their infrequent interactions. Something as miniscule as a glance from across the room and he could detect the nuances of her reactions—her straightened back, her slower reaction time, if just by a fraction, and of course—those arresting eyes of hers.

As he leaned against the elaborate pillar of the Deveraux's game room with scotch in hand, he wondered when he would finally concede defeat. The last time Chuck had felt so tormented by his emotions was when he had been nine years old, before he had lost his mother. It was a bit strange, drawing parallels between Blair and his mother, but natural—seeing as his mother was the only women he'd ever been emotionally attached to.

That was the thing about Blair he had been unable to reconcile, the reason why he stood where he did in that moment—he was simply drawn to her. It baffled him that he would so willingly debase himself, repeatedly trying to win her favor again and again. His hand clenched the crystal goblet tightly, as the humiliated feeling of behaving like a beggar washed over him. It was as though Blair was completely unaware of how unnatural and difficult this situation was for him. He had never wanted to be around another person the way he craved being around her. Sometimes it was just enough to be in proximity, to feel the waves of her energy, and know that she was close by. It almost would have been better to have never waltzed with her, he mused, then he would've assumed it was just a primal and sexual lure. But having spent time with her, her engaging nature, clever dialogue and unrivaled beauty had made him want to whisk her away and spend an eternity with her until he could decipher what effect she had on him.

To say his pride had been battered was an understatement. She had dodged his attempt to kiss her. That she could be immune to his charms was just barely stomachable, that she might not be attracted to him was startling. Surely this magnetic pull he had towards her worked both ways? That he suffered from this malady was disconcerting—he had never desired a woman who hadn't desired him. Was this the way the women whose advances he'd rejected in the past felt? Chuck shook his head. Strangely that only enhanced Blair's allure, it validated his belief that the countless women that had warmed his bed were vacuous vessels only wanting what he could offer to satisfy their own lust and position in society. For the first time he found himself wanting _something_—yet another new emotion, courtesy of Blair Waldorf. Perhaps it _was_ better if he withdrew his attempts, other than his title and fortune, he wasn't certain he would have enough to tempt her with.

The other thing that had staved off his frustration was that it did not appear as though Blair was seriously considering any suitor. Despite the fact that she was constantly surrounded by her court of admirers, she had not singled out a preferred companion. If anything, she seemed to have them set on a rotating cycle, insuring no partiality was demonstrated—it was what had given him the hope to continue pressing his suit. His possessive instincts towards her laid dormant for now, untested. But Chuck would not deny the niggling fear that Blair would meet someone that she might prefer to him, or would extinguish the remnants of her childhood fascination with him.

Time to go, he thought, as he knocked back what was left of his scotch. Chuck was a bit proud of himself, he had managed to pass the evening without getting within twenty feet of Blair. Even though he hadn't _actually_ shared any details of his life with her last night, he felt entirely too exposed. He needed this small moral victory to regain some footing, he was beginning to feel pathetic and desperate—that would attract no one.

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"Lady Waldorf."

"Lord Bass! It has been some time since I've seen you. You left so abruptly the other week, that I neglected to thank you properly for the lovely daffodils. I must say, it quite made me feel like a debutante, all over again," Eleanor enthused, as she had managed to time her entrance into ballroom with Lord Bass' exit from the game room, perfectly.

"I'm glad the gesture brought you pleasure, but if you'll excuse me, I was just on my way out. Perhaps we shall meet again?" Chuck said politely.

"Leaving so soon?"

"On occasion, I like to avoid being a masochist."

"Masochist? What would be the cause of that?" Eleanor raised a brow.

"Your delightful daughter," Chuck said laconically.

"Well, you cannot be surprised that she's upset with you," Eleanor remarked, inwardly thrilled by his response.

"I'm _not_. I just thought she'd be more reasonable."

"I believe you broke her heart, Lord Bass, reason may have flown out the window," Eleanor said, stifling the urge to roll her eyes.

"I know that," Chuck said petulantly. "It's not like I haven't tried to apologize."

"And…?" Eleanor prodded.

Chuck stood silent and childishly spat. "I've apologized more than once, you know."

"Had you considered just _asking_ her what you need to do to make it up to her?"

"It's a bit of impossibility when she won't talk to me."

"This may seem obvious, but why haven't you called on her since the morning after her come out ball? Blair could hardly avoid you then."

"I find the presence of that much foppery to be suffocating. I don't understand how either you or your daughter can stand such falsity," Chuck huffed.

"It's the price of being a functioning member of polite society. Still, that doesn't exactly answer my question."

Chuck paused, "Your daughter has gone out of her way to let me know how unwelcome my attentions are, including directly telling me to leave her alone."

"Yet, you've still managed to attend almost every event we have," Eleanor observed.

"As her mother, surely you can enlighten her of the social benefits of being seen in the presence of a Marquess, namely me?"

"Really Lord Bass, you are being entirely too pushy. I can't force her to talk to you is she doesn't want too!"

"I'm merely pointing out the benefits," Chuck pouted.

"You cannot tell me you are unaware that having singled her out, she's already an undisputed success! She is admired by shy gentlemen because she ignores you; has become even a greater challenge to rakes of your ilk for having yet fallen in your clutches; fortune hunters won't go near her because she is unmoved even by your riches. Short of you offering for her, I don't think she could be more popular. If you'd like some time with her, I'd encourage that you practice patience and restraint."

Chuck was speechless. Lady Waldorf had brought the expression "dressed down" to a blistering level, he had been thoroughly chastised. How was it that only Blair and her mother weren't scared of him? Bitterly he said, "I'm ecstatic to know I've served my purpose."

"Lord Bass, the blame is absolutely yours. All of this has been caused by your behavior. Did you really expect that aside from your title and fortune, a mother would actually encourage her daughter to chase after you? It is clear that _neither_ interest Blair, surely you must know that?"

"Are there any further insults you'd like to apply to me Lady Waldorf? I would be loathe to interrupt you."

"Now you're being overly sensitive. I'm merely trying to discern what your motives with my daughter are. I've turned a blind eye to her dodging your very proper advances because I had assumed your interest in her would have dissipated by now. Don't look shocked, everyone knows that your attention span is extremely short lived. But as this appears to be more than a passing interest, I need to ask you what your intentions are. If I champion your cause with Blair, can I expect you to ask for her hand?"

A silence descended upon the two as Chuck tried to come up with an honest answer. He had never really given much thought to a future—one that would consist of babies or a wife or a family. Instead, he had envied the casual and familial interactions of Nathaniel with his parents and his cousins. Envy was not an emotion that sat well with Chuck, so he had learned to stop subjecting himself in the company of families. The glaring reminder of something he had never experienced left him feeling isolated, even more than he preferred. Listening to Lady Waldorf now, it further illustrated how little he had, and how his abstract, albeit very real connection to Blair, made him want a family, all the more. Finally he answered, "You dote on her."

"Do I?" Eleanor asked. "Pray tell, what makes you say that and what does this have to do with your intentions?"

"Everything. I take it that you are aware of her childhood fascination with me?" Eleanor nodded. "And you stated earlier, that I broke her heart. Yet, you want her to be happy, and you think that I would make her happy. But you are unwilling to let me near her, unless I prove to you first, that I might be worthy. I didn't have that—unconditional parental love."

Eleanor remained silent, as if she were waiting for him to continue. Chuck felt unarmed and vulnerable right now. He wanted to correctly relay his point in order to secure some time alone with Blair. He was fairly certain that if he just spent a bit of time with her, and got to know her better, that he would want to make her his family. Finally Chuck said quietly, "If your daughter is even half as amazing as I think her to be, than I cannot imagine that after getting to know her better, that this will end in anything other than marriage."

"I suppose I can agree to her joining you for a short ride in your phaeton, but only twice around Hyde Park, and no more. Thursday at half past two, is that agreeable?"

"It would be my honor," Chuck said with a boyish smile.

"And Lord Bass, don't keep my daughter waiting by being late."

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Eleanor snatched a glass of champagne from the footman's tray and she toasted herself on a job well done. Her daughter Blair would be a _Duchess_. As happy as she was that Lord Bass had revealed as much as he had, his despondency had surprised her. She, like every other member of the ton had assumed that he was a rake, with nary a care in the world. Eleanor had not expected to find a lonely and sad boy buried deep inside the Marquess. She would have to make sure that Blair did not sabotage herself when Eleanor told her of the plans. As much as she would love to tell Blair everything that had transpired between her and Lord Bass, it would be better for her to find out on her own. She didn't need to place the Marquess further underneath Blair's thumb, by unveiling his ultimate intent of marrying her. It would be best for the both of them if they had somewhat of a level playing field.

Gaily, Eleanor swapped her empty glass for a full one, as she continued her private celebration. She all but glided through the ballroom as she made her way back to Lily.

"Today is a glorious day, Lily."

"Eleanor, I saw you speaking with Lord Bass at length just now. You aren't encouraging him to keep following Blair around London like a puppy, are you?" Lily asked, concern clouding her eyes.

"Don't be ridiculous! Could you imagine Charles Bass akin to anything remotely puppyish?" Eleanor scoffed, glossing over the fact that that was _exactly_ how he was acting.

"The grand dames are making waves that he has taken perhaps too much of an interest, that he's pursuing her a bit too blatantly," Lily continued. "I'm worried that the rest of the gentlemen will see Blair as sport, seeing her as a challenge, since the Marquess is panting after her."

"Pfft! Blair has barely even acknowledged him at any of the events he's followed her to. Perhaps there is dissension amongst the ranks of the grand dames, as Lady Jersey volunteered that although the age gap between Blair and Lord Bass is large, it would not be considered bad ton for him to be seen regularly in her company. Furthermore, Lady Cowper congratulated me on Blair managing to ensnare the Marquess' interest. Really Lily, I cannot believe you of all people are lecturing me on propriety! My daughter wasn't the one found _in_ _flagrante delicto_ with Viscount Hadley over a year ago. I am well aware of his comings and goings from your townhouse late at night and early in the morning."

Lily had the decency to blush.

"Besides, I was merely trying to insure that Lord Bass wasn't toying with Blair. His behavior has been a contrast to everything that has been said about him. But he has assured me, that this isn't a passing fancy."

"Eleanor, you know I consider Blair as a second daughter. I wasn't trying to upset you or cause you distress. I'm merely reminding _you_ that there is much at stake here. The more questions that arise about the Marquess and Blair, the more scrutiny there will be placed on _you_. You've worked so hard for everything, I'm worried that if you're not careful, everything will crumble," Lily implored.

The reality of Lily's word sunk in, Eleanor had almost forgotten what _she_ had at stake, her own future. With a sigh, she said, "Thank you Lily, I had forgotten that. But for once, I cannot not be selfish. Blair deserves this, and what mother wouldn't put her child's happiness above her own?"

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After her talk with her mother last night, Blair found herself again confounded by Chuck Bass. If she had correctly interpreted Eleanor, then Chuck had revealed enough about his intentions to satisfy her mother. This new side of Eleanor that had emerged since their arrival to London, was more than Blair had ever wished for. It wasn't that her mother had ever _mistreated_ her, but Blair always felt like she had to do or be more.

If Blair were being completely honest, part of her decision to speak to him alone was due to her insatiable need to know everything about Chuck Bass. She kept hearing her mother's words play over and over in her head, _not everyone was raised with the benefits of unconditional parental love_.

Serena had told her that Eleanor and Chuck had had a lengthy and well documented conversation at the Deveraux's ball. At first she had been furious, especially when her mother had advised her that Blair was to, _without complaint_, accompany Lord Bass for a phaeton ride on Thursday. Before Blair could even argue, Eleanor had asked if she were willing to cut her nose to spite her face. When her mother had further pressed the issue of Lord Bass apologizing more than once to her, it had occurred to her that she might have been acting rather churlishly.

She had been deep in thought again today, just like she had been every day since seeing him at Hatchards. It was then she realized that whether she liked it or not, lied to herself or not, Chuck Bass still ruled her world. However, she clung to the idea that if _she_ were a bit more privy to the Marquess' motives, that maybe they could start anew. Perhaps her fairy tale dreams would come true?

When Chuck finally made it to the edge of her circle of admirers, Blair inwardly sighed with relief. The sting from last night when he had not approached her was still a fresh wound to her. She had hoped that he would have at least acknowledged her, as he had every other night, but he hadn't. Blair had worried that it would be left up to her to find him that evening, but fortunately that was not the case.

After waiting what would appear to be an appropriate amount of time, she made her move. Despite her rapidly beating heart, Blair demurely asked, "Lord Bass, would you care to stroll with me?"

Chuck stared at her for a moment with a look of mild suspicion. Blair prayed that he would just accept her offer, she didn't want an audience for her discussion with him. She had to know, for herself, if she could let her guard down and try to start all over with him. He continued to stare at her, and just when she was about to stamp her foot and scream, he smoothly said, "It would be entirely my pleasure."

Chuck offered Blair his arm, and she took it gently, and turned to him with a radiant smile and softly said, "Thank you, Lord Bass."

Her smile blinded him for a moment, causing him to almost stumble. When he felt Blair tug at his arm, to continue walking, he wrestled for control of his reaction. As he placed his hand over hers, he drawled, "Much as I'd like to think it's my impeccable manners and good looks that recommend me, do I have your Mother to thank for the honor of walking with you?"

"Why?" Blair blurted out.

"Why what?" Chuck asked slowly. Blair's calm veneer was dissolving and he noticed the throbbing pulse at her neck. While her smile would fool most, he could see the hint of strain beneath it.

"Why me?" Blair whispered.

Suddenly he felt his throat tighten. This was a test, and he was fearful that if he answered incorrectly, she would banish him forever, never to be near her incandescent light again. As the words slowly came out of his mouth, they felt like an odd mixture of condemnation and exaltation, "You fascinate me in a way that is incomprehensible to me. I don't think I could stop myself from being drawn to you if I wanted to, and I don't know if I do—want to stop it, that is."

Suddenly, the tight grip she had on his arm loosened. He had been unable to look at her since she asked her question. He kept staring straight ahead until he felt her slip away from him. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for the inevitable rejection.

"Lord Bass, it would be my pleasure to accompany you for a ride to Hyde Park tomorrow afternoon. Until then," Blair said sweetly. "My mother is waiting outside."

Chuck looked down at Blair mid-curtsey and stuttered, "But—I thought—didn't we already have plans for tomorrow?"

With a smirk, Blair said, "Yes, but I thought you'd prefer knowing that I was joining you because _I_ wanted to, not because my mother made me."

Chuck could only stare after her as she started to walk away.

"Oh, and Lord Bass?" Blair asked, half-turned towards him.

"Yes?" Chuck replied as he struggled to absorb her last words.

"Don't be late."

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_**tbc**_

* * *

Not my best work, so I apologize in advance.

As always, this story is for Noirreigne, who is my muse, almost as much as Chuck and Blair are.

Thank you for beta-ing, again.

I am appreciative and grateful for all the reviews that come my way, but most importantly, thank you for reading my story.


	7. ch 6: woo me

As Blair looked at the clear blue sky and felt the sunlight on her face, she fought to keep from smiling too widely and fidgeting. _I am Jane Bennet, Jane Bennet is me_, she whispered to herself. As much as she identified with Lizzy Bennet, being driven in Chuck Bass' phaeton called for more of a Jane, than Lizzy moment. His words from last night still set the fluttering in her stomach to a frenzy. He was drawn to her as much as she was to him—they were magnetic.

Chuck looked over at Blair and saw her face aglow—there was something so indelibly captivating about her. The cherry red spencer complimented the color of her lips, and it contrasted flatteringly with her pale pink dress. He shook his head as the grimace on his face deepened. For the life of him, he could not think of a single thing to say, his mind unable to function as the object of his desire sat next to him. The combination of his nerves and Blair's beauty did nothing to ease the thundering of his heart. He limited the number of quick glances he allowed himself, as he found it entirely too easy to lose himself in her. Finally, he decided to stop looking at Blair altogether, attempting to keep focused on his greys. An overturned carriage would not bode well for their first outing. And if he wished to look at her, he'd prefer to do so at his leisure. Her face was more deserving of long, lingering glances instead of the furtive, stolen peeks.

"You are surprisingly silent, my lord," Blair said, invading his thoughts. Chuck groaned in his head. He had not realized that in his self-analysis, he had yet to exchange a single word with her since assisting her into his carriage.

"Your beauty leaves me speechless," he said shyly, unable to stop himself.

Blair's cheeks turned red and rosy at his compliment. "Then I will have to do my best to put you at ease."

"I am at your mercy," he smiled.

There was a pause as Blair cocked her head to the side and lightly drummed her fingers to her head. Chuck couldn't help but chuckle as she debated her options. Finally she came to a decision, as she began to tease him. "Viscount Hadley mentioned the other day that the three of us are in the same position, we are our parent's only children, a blessing and a curse. Tell me, why don't you have any siblings? Doesn't every dukedom have an heir and a spare?"

Chuck froze, suddenly unable to move. His eyes closed briefly as the image of his mother lying on the floor, bleeding, assaulted him. His grip tightened on the reins.

Nudging him playfully, Blair continued, "Were you that much of a brat? Or were you just that darling of a baby that they decided you were enough? You can tell me, I shall not tell a soul." She turned her head to continue needling him, when she saw how pale and still he had become. She placed her hand on his arm and whispered, "Lord Bass?"

Both her touch and voice jarred Chuck away from reliving his nightmare. In that moment he was completely lost. It had never occurred to him that this topic would be brought up, so suddenly and so abruptly. It made him want to turn his coach around, and drop off the lovely Miss Waldorf back at her home and run away.

When he looked at her worry-ridden, yet angelic face, he knew that she could be his salvation. If he wanted the truth, now was his opportunity, could she ever care for a monster like him? He owed it to her—the chance to walk away from this unscathed, regardless of how much he desired her. Chuck took a deep breath and said hoarsely, "I had a brother, Thomas. My mother lost him two months before she was due to give birth."

Chuck heard Blair's gasp followed by complete silence. He wondered if he should choose to be cruel, give her more details and force her to hate him as much as he hated himself. It would make it so much easier for her, and ultimately he would know if he was truly as unlovable as he thought. Woodenly he continued, "I was the one who found her lying on her sitting room floor, bleeding. I thought it was the worst moment of my life, but I was wrong. Once the doctor had been fetched, I ran from the house. Do you have any idea what it's like to see your mother passed out on the floor, barely breathing, and losing her child? There was a storm that night, and I stayed up in a tree until Arthur came and found me. I had gotten a chill, and was deathly ill. My mother had kept crying for me, having lost Thomas already. I'm told they took me in to lay down with her, and two days later, she died. In her weakened state from having just lost a baby, she was susceptible to the influenza I had. It was the Bass brothers that killed her, my brother got the first punch, but I'm the one that finished her off."

Blair was speechless and heartbroken at the same time. She could not imagine what it was like to live with that burden, and what it cost for him to confide in her. She wondered if he had repeated these words to anyone other than himself, which she was certain he had, endlessly. His polished veneer made perfect sense, he kept _everyone_ at bay. If he was entrusting this to her, than whatever this thing was between them, was _real_. Their position in the curricle, allowed only Blair the liberty of movement. She reached her left hand over and linked her pinky finger to Chuck's and softly said, "It's not your fault. I'm so sorry. I'm here if you want to talk..." she paused, and a beat later, "or you don't."

Chuck head snapped to meet her eyes. The sorrow and compassion in her voice matched the emotions in her eyes. Again, Blair had surprised Chuck. This was the exact reaction he had never known he'd always hoped for. She seemed to intuitively understand him as no other had. With a sigh of relief, he smiled tightly at her, drew her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss, "No talking."

A calm settled over them as their ride through the park continued, both deep in thought—Blair's hand firmly tucked into Chuck's.

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When Chuck spotted her, he felt a pang of guilt that he was about to disrupt her serenity. The green vine printed sprigged muslin with the matching bonnet laid next to her, and the light breeze softly dancing in her hair made her look even more delectable. It was too picturesque—from the rug she was regally perched on, to her dress, to the way she sat—she looked like an unposed Gainsborough painting, and she took his breath away. She was leaning back on her hands with her legs curled to her side, staring off into space without a care in the world. Chuck felt himself hesitate, wondering if she would welcome the intrusion.

As he looked down at the gilded, leather bound book he clutched in his hand, he wondered what he was doing. His thoughts strayed to yesterday's illuminating ride to Hyde Park. Although it shouldn't have surprised him, it was gratifying to discover that he felt equally comfortable in Blair's silence as he was with her chatter. Predictably, he received permission from Lady Waldorf upon their return, to escort them to _King Lear _that evening. Edmund Keane had returned from America last year and seats were virtually impossible to come by. Since his groundbreaking work as Shylock in _A Merchant in Venice_, almost every play he performed sold out. The murmurs of shock that rippled through the theatre when he appeared with both Lady and Miss Waldorf in the premiere box did not go unnoticed. However, Blair had barely acknowledged it as she was transfixed on the play on stage.

During the first intermission, the three of them stayed in the box, allowing no one an opportunity to chat with them. They were so engrossed in discussion, that even the boldest gossipmonger was hesitant to interrupt. During the second intermission, Chuck had gone to fetch both Waldorf women lemonade, and ran into Nate.

Nate hadn't even attempted to disguise his amusement. "Chuck, how surprising to see you here! Are you here alone?"

Chuck just glared at him.

"Ah, so you're here with someone, who might that be?" Nate continued to pester him.

"You know who, _Nathaniel_," Chuck ground out.

"You wouldn't mean, Miss Waldorf, would you?"

Chuck gave a curt nod.

"How fascinating! What did you do to convince her to give you a chance?"

"I am not fond of the direction of this conversation," Chuck hissed. "If you'll excuse me, I must attend to my guests."

He had barely moved a step when Nate's laugh followed him, as well as his taunting words, "Don't think I don't know what you did to procure those tickets."

Chuck whipped around to meet his eyes. Nate continued, "Could you believe my shock when Simms told me that you had come by to relieve me of my box seats this evening? And to think, I don't recall agreeing to hand over the tickets I had begged you to procure for me, to take _Serena and her mother_."

"Nate…I…" Chuck started to stutter until he pictured Blair, and that was enough for him to regain his footing. "I apologize, it was rather…underhanded of me. But my wooing of Miss Waldorf takes precedence over your _agreement_ with Miss van der Woodsen."

"So you esteem her, then? I've never heard you say that about anyone before," Nate observed with a genuine smile.

"I might," he grumbled back. "How I feel about her is unlike anything I've ever felt."

"Woo, huh?" Nate baited.

Chuck opted to say nothing more.

"Did you really think you were going to keep this a secret for that long? From me?"

"I would've preferred to inform you when I was ready, not be manipulated by your amateur attempts to find out," Chuck bristled.

"Well, this amateur harbors no ill will towards your taking back the tickets. I actually wanted to tell you, that if you're so inclined to have a private moment with Miss Waldorf, I'm escorting her and Serena to a picnic, just the three of us. I will have Simms send Arthur the instructions to the location. You are free to join us, if you'd like," Nate said conspiratorially, patting Chuck on the shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

And now, here he stood. It did not escape his notice that he had again picked up a present for Blair—something about her made him want to shower her with gifts. Chuck wondered if the inclination struck him because of the way her face lit up in genuine appreciation, or that he felt the need to bribe her—buy her smiles and laughs. The uncertainty of a schoolboy, he scoffed, that was what Miss Waldorf had reduced him to.

As Chuck remained motionless, torn between whether or not he should approach or retreat, Blair lifted her head, as though sensing someone's gaze on her. She turned her head and looked directly at him, and the smile that crossed her face caused the smile that stretched on his, "Lord Bass!"

"Miss Waldorf, please, don't get up. In fact, I insist you stay as you are," Chuck said as Blair attempted to stand up and curtsey. He fell to his knees and joined her on the rug.

"If you insist, although this is entirely improper," she said ruefully.

"No one will miss the curtsey, and if anyone objects, I will inform them that I insisted you stay as you were." Chuck watched as Blair's curious eyes locked onto the beautiful book in his hand. "And if you get up, I will not share this tome with you."

"What did you bring?"

"Something Greek and mythological."

Rapture crossed Blair's face and for once Chuck did not mind that he was giving her the upper hand, again. He had essentially informed her that he remembered every detail of their accidental encounter.

"Read to me," Chuck commanded as he handed her the book. "Your voice soothes me."

Blair bit back yet another smile. She had only been around Chuck for the past day, and already she felt the soreness in her cheeks that being around him produced, she couldn't quite contain herself. If he was trying to woo her, she was in perilous danger of being swept off her feet. Before she could open the book, Chuck sprawled out on the rug, and suddenly, his head rested in her lap, facing away from her. The thick, dark, loose curls were a siren calling out to her. And before she realized what she was doing, before she could stop herself with the inappropriateness of it all, her fingers were in his hair, stroking his head softly. Chuck's eyes closed with a sigh of contentment, which only urged Blair to continue her light ministrations. With the book forgotten, and Serena and Nate far away, how long the pair stayed like that was unknown to either.

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"Lord Bass," Blair whispered as she looked down at his sleeping face in her lap.

He had shifted in his sleep, leaving her to freely gaze. He was so beautiful, she thought. She began tracing the features on his face—his brow, his sharp jaw, his aristocratic nose, his chin. As her fingers made their contact with his perfectly full lips, his eyes opened and his lips parted, catching one finger, lightly between his teeth. Their eyes locked and Blair blushed, spectacularly. Chuck released her finger, and rolled off her lap. He sprawled on his back, but kept his eyes on her, "Don't be embarrassed, _Minx._"

When Blair didn't respond, and kept her head down, Chuck reached over and tugged on her hand. His gesture got her off guard and she fell forward. Her face was hovered over his, less than a foot apart. Instinctively, Blair closed her eyes, and leaned towards him. As she felt him nearing her, the sound of Serena's laughter pierced through the air, causing both of them to pull away from each other. Chuck resumed his position, hands behind his head, staring up into the sky. Blair quickly reached for the book and softly began reading it aloud, her voice slightly trembling from what had almost happened.

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Chuck and Blair slowly followed behind Nate and Serena to the carriage. Chuck had tucked Blair's hand into the crook of his arm, and they meandered slowly without words. He knew that if he kept the distance between Nate and Serena, he could swoop in and steal a kiss—something he desperately itched to do. But Blair brought out the gentleman in him. He didn't wish to steal anything, and he wanted more than a few moments, to truly explore the lusciousness of her mouth. But he could not ignore the electric currents that ran between them, waiting for the sparks to be ignited. As he lifted Blair up into the carriage, he brushed a kiss in her palm and said, "Please save me a waltz at the Shafai's ball tonight."

Her flushed smile was answer enough.

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Chuck knocked backed yet another glass of scotch and reached for the decanter. No matter how much he drank, his father's words from eight years ago still haunted him, _Every time I think we're making progress, you show your true colors. You're an embarrassment and disappointment to me. _ Those sentences had been ringing in his head since he caught a glimpse of his father six days ago outside of White's. After parting from Nathaniel, Miss van der Woodsen and Miss Waldorf, Chuck had gone to White's to wait for Nate.

As his phaeton had turned the corner, he had seen the familiar ducal colors adorning the side of a closed carriage. Chuck had inherently stopped movement altogether—his heart dropping when his father exited the carriage. It had been almost four years since he had last seen him, over eight year since they had spoken. The Duke quickly glanced around the street before being ushered into White's.

It had been the driver of the carriage behind him that had broken his stupor. It never failed to shock him how easily he reverted to a child whenever he was proximate to his father, Bartholomew Bass, Duke of Rowley. Four years ago, they had attended the same ball—when they had crossed paths, Chuck had turned his back and walked out of the house and left London for a month. After that, Chuck had made certain to have Arthur keep him abreast any time the Duke was in town. Perhaps it was cowardly, but being around his father, stripped him of his identity, and it was far too painful and destructive for himself.

The decanter was empty, and in complete frustration Chuck threw his glass against his study wall. As the crystal scattered around the fireplace, he vaguely heard running footsteps, and saw Arthur, his butler, exclaim, "My lord! Are you injured?"

"Bring me another bottle of scotch," Chuck ordered. He couldn't meet Arthur's eyes, couldn't stand to see the look of concern that would be present—the pity. It was still unknown to him if Arthur had been sent to him by Bart or if he had come to Chuck on his own. Arthur had first been a footman at his mother's childhood home, then at his father's home, and had taken it upon himself to look out for Chuck's wellbeing. Arthur was the only one who reduced Chuck into feeling like a naughty, misbehaved child. Except for the crackling fire, the house seemed silent. After what felt like an hour, Arthur cleared his throat, "Very well my lord. Please stay away from the fireplace, I will send Beth in to clean up the mess."

"Beth can wait until tomorrow. Just the scotch, Arthur—now." Chuck braced himself for an argument, but heard nothing but Arthur's footsteps leading away. As soon as he was alone, Chuck let out a sigh of relief. He walked to the window and looked up at the pitch black sky that merely held the crescent moon. He laughed aloud, and wondered at the irony of the moon's cycle; leave it to the lunar calendar to represent how he felt about Blair Waldorf. He was drowning in darkness, she served as the sliver of light. He yearned to run his hands through her chocolate curls, and bury his face in her neck. It was this _longing_ that unsettled him. When she asked him about having a sibling, he found himself actually answering her—truthfully, instead of brushing it off as he was apt to do. And then it was as though the floodgates had been opened, and he had told her details, no one, not even Nathaniel knew. Could he trust her? Did he trust her already? It seemed completely foreign to him that he could feel so much with such certainty in as short a span of time.

Arthur's cough alerted him to the end of his solitude. He turned to see Arthur place a new decanter of scotch with a new crystal glass on his table. With a short nod, Chuck dismissed him. When the pocket doors slid shut, he returned to the chaise to pour himself another glass when it struck him. The past few minutes were the only moments of peace he had since he had seen Bart, six days ago. Thoughts of Blair pushed his father to the outer fringes of his mind. He _needed_ to see her, _needed_ her to erase those words that had been pounded into his head. But exhaustion started to creep over him, and as he nodded off, he mumbled to himself, "Blair, I need to see Blair."

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Blair looked out her window and stared at the moon. They had returned from the Wiltshire's ball almost two hours ago, and sleep was eluding her. She shivered and tightened the wrap around her—it had been a full week since the quiet afternoon she had spent with Lord Bass, where they had _almost _kissed. At the Shafai's ball, she had been certain that he would come to claim the waltz he had requested. Blair had looked forward to the idea that they would have found a way to capture a few minutes alone, and finish what had nearly been started. She had spent that entire evening looking over her shoulder, waiting for him to appear. But as the days fell by, the consensus was that Chuck Bass had disappeared from society's periphery.

Tonight had been the pinnacle of her despair, the sympathetic looks Serena and Nate had given her made her feel like more the fool. And if that hadn't been enough, the ladies of the ton had trapped her in a casual manner, clucking sympathetically, how she should be proud that she had at least captured the Marquess' attention as long as she had. Others insinuated that perhaps Blair had surrendered her virtue, and now Lord Bass had castigated her like he did every other. A few kinder-hearted ladies, seemed to pity her, telling her to take comfort that he had not ruined her, and that she should be grateful that she had escaped fully intact.

All around her, with Penelope, of course being the most vocal, everyone was discussing the tragedy that befell poor, naïve, innocent Miss Waldorf. It was a wonder how quickly the story unfolded, wasn't it just last week she had been seen in Lord Bass' phaeton—an honor never bestowed before, _not even his mistresses had commanded that_. Next, she had been escorted to the choicest box for Keane's _King Lear,_ the very same evening_._ There was a rumor that a picnic had followed the afternoon after, yet Miss Waldorf had been cast aside. The rumors and half-truths that swirled around her were almost unbearable. Despite the severity of _his_ reputation, she wanted to stamp her foot in frustration, he had actually been a complete gentleman. It was _she_ who had behaved like a hoyden—stroking his hair, leaning in for a kiss. And after their discussion about his mother and brother, and especially after that afternoon, she had been convinced that this was more than a passing fancy.

Blair, however, had put on an immaculate façade of indifference. Even Viscount Hadley wasn't sure if she was playing a part, or actually did not care of Lord Bass' abrupt disappearance. She had overheard him inform Serena that Chuck was locked up in his townhouse, refusing all visitors. Blair was certain that something had to be amiss, that he would never have intentionally misled her. But each day he failed to appear, she wondered if she had tricked herself into believing that the real version of Chuck Bass and her fantasy version were one. Consequently, Chuck's absence led to a diminishing number of admirers. While she still had a boastful size of devotees, some had slipped away, wondering what had caused the breach between her and the Marquess.

With a grunt of frustration, Blair slipped out of her room and down the stairs. The endless possibilities of "what ifs" were driving her insane. Perhaps some exercise would settle her nerves, she thought, stop her from questioning if she had responded correctly or not when Chuck had relayed the story of his mother's death. Had she been over-confident in assuming that she had secured more than a _small_ part of his attention? As she tiptoed through the library, she felt anger with herself mounting—of course it couldn't have been that _easy_. Chuck Bass was not some country dandy that was going to swoon at her feet just because she smiled prettily at him and traded compliments. She must have completely misinterpreted their "companionable silence" on the drive back or failed to recognize that _he_ had been the one to step back from their non-kiss. Had she simply been a challenge that he grew bored with? Blair walked down the stairs from the terrace and into the garden where she had dodged his first attempt at a kiss. Even in the cool autumn night, she felt as though she were choking, that she couldn't breathe—it must have been a test she failed! Unbeknownst to her, tears started trickling down her cheeks.

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As Chuck gingerly removed himself from his carriage, he motioned for his driver to stay put. In order to avoid drawing attention, Chuck had chosen to take out his unmarked carriage. When he had dozed off that morning, he hadn't expected to sleep the entire day away, and when Arthur had tried to remove him to his bedroom, he had finally awoken. Blair's name had been on his lips, and he quickly called for a carriage. Arthur shook his head, and forced him to take a bath, hoping that lucidity would strike, and he would realize how late the hour was. The bath had merely strengthened his will to see Blair that very instant, it being past two in the morning, was irrelevant. He instructed his footman to stop a distance away from the van der Woodsen townhouse.

Chuck was amused by his almost sobriety. Although he had not had a drink in almost a full day, the amount of spirits he had imbibed over the past few days were making their presence known. He applauded himself that he had barely made a sound upon reaching the front of the house. Since knocking on the door would be out of the question, Chuck looked up at the second story of the home to see if one of those rooms were Blair's. Giving up on his limited powers of deductive reasoning, Chuck walked to the side of house and decided to climb over the fence to see if he could track her room from the rear. Landing with a quiet thud onto the grass, he quickly went around the garden hedges and was about to start his search when the rustling of grass called his attention. Blair pacing back and forth was the sight that welcomed him—as though she were waiting for his arrival, he mused.

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The approaching footsteps caused a startled Blair to swing around. Her heart had already been pounding as she prepared herself to yell or maim the trespasser, when she realized that it was Lord Bass. A gasp escaped her, as she watched the cause of her agitation stumble towards her.

"Miss Waldorf, we must stop meeting like this," Chuck slowly drawled.

"Lord Bass! What are you doing here? Where have you been?" She couldn't stop herself from asking.

"Well hello to you, too, lover. If you must know," Chuck mustered out indignantly, "I _needed_ to see you, to determine if you I could trust you or not."

"Are you foxed, my lord?" Blair's heart leapt at the word 'lover' and again at his dulcet tone. As he spun around, he stumbled, causing Blair's arm to shoot out, wrapping around his waist, and steadying him from a fall.

"My dear Miss Waldorf, I insist we dispense with the formalities. You must give me leave to call you by your given name!" He announced.

"If I give you permission, will you recall me doing so in the morning?" She returned with a raised brow. Blair was about to step away, when Chuck stumbled, again. She quickly surveyed the yard and only the gazebo seemed to serve—tucking him out of the line of vision from any hidden eyes. With a quick glance back at the house, noting that no candle had been lit, she guided him that way.

"I will remember any and every detail that concerns you, _Blair_."

"I have yet to give you leave, my lord—"

"Chuck."

"Excuse me?"

"Chuck. Call me Chuck."

"I don't think I should call you by your given name."

"I want you to call me by my name. My mother's the one who started calling me Chuck. I am imparting the honor to you. Since I am letting you call me by _my_ Christian name, it would be apropos for you to extend me the same courtesy," he informed her.

"Why?"

"Because until I have _permission_ to call you by your name, I can't do this…" Chuck whispered, as he slowly walked towards her until her back made contact with the wooden pillar. He lifted her chin with a single finger and lowered his head to murmur, "So beautiful."

He slid his free hand around her waist and drew her closer to him, their bodies pressed against each other. When he heard her draw a breath, he started nibbling on her ear. "May I call you Blair?"

"Yes," she breathed out.

"Yes, what?" Chuck teased as his tongue gently traced her outer earlobe.

"Yes, _Chuck_," she lightly moaned.

With a triumphant smile, he feathered kisses along her jaw line as his finger played with a single curl. Blair's hands slid on his chest, leaning closer towards him. Chuck brushed his lips lightly against hers, drawing her upper lip between his. As her lips parted, he slowly dove in, increasing the pressure of his lips, and coaxing her tongue to touch his. Blair clung to him, as his mouth caressed hers and his hands molded her body to his.

The breathy whimper that escaped from her made Chuck want to purr in satisfaction. There was something so exquisitely unique about the way she grasped at his shoulders, her tongue darting awkwardly to mimic his movements. Every subtle gesture and nuance only confirmed his suspicion that this was Blair's first kiss. He congratulated himself on having picked a true innocent, knowing that every sensual experience she would have, would be from his hand. The intoxicating taste of her mouth caused him to clutch her tighter as he ran one hand through her curls, the other rubbed circular patterns on her hip. Chuck cautioned himself to slow down, he wanted to drag out each sensation she felt, he wanted her to savor each moment as he was. When she suddenly adjusted the rhythm of their kiss, and explored his mouth with fervor, any plan he had dissolved as he did in her embrace. It seemed his Minx was learning how to play.

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_**tbc**_

* * *

Apologies for skipping posting last week, the oneshot I wrote zapped me of all my creativity, and perhaps served as my replacement for this delayed chapter?

To my readers and reviewers, thank you so much for still reading my story. I am always thrilled by your response.

Thanks and love and admiration to my beta Noirreigne, who is such a wonderful friend and partner in crime.


	8. ch 7: a beginning, not an end

The feeling of Blair Waldorf perched on his lap with her hands freely roaming over his chest, was a sensation Chuck was growing addicted to. As he pressed another kiss against her throat, she began to trace patterns on his back. In the short hour that he had introduced her to the art of kissing, their roles had somehow been reversed. The moment she had gained the confidence to return his kisses, she had enslaved him with her mouth. And he had been unable to do anything other than move her onto his lap and luxuriate in the taste of her.

Her eagerness to touch him had surprised him. Normally considered a wanton gesture, it had shocked him when she yanked his shirt out of his breeches and slid her hands along his chest. They had been in constant motion since then, wandering over the landscape of his body. Those dainty hands had traipsed dangerously close to his waistband more than once, and fortunately they had crawled back upwards.

The delicate contact of her skin on his was exhilarating and he could not remember ever having relished a woman's touch before. He lightly scraped his teeth against the skin of her neck, when he felt her shiver. Slowly, he started to reorient himself to his surroundings, noting the streaks of dawn against the once blackened sky. With a sigh of unhappiness, he murmured, "Blair, we must get you back inside."

She wrapped her arms around him tightly, burying her face into his neck as she shook her head no. She began nibbling on his chin, causing him to growl as she further tempted him to loosen his reigns on the control he had been exerting thus far. He regrettably trapped her meandering hands. "Nothing would please me more than to continue as we were, but morning is coming, and I should go."

Blair wrinkled her nose, but leaned in for a final kiss. Chuck forced himself to keep it as light as possible, only allowing for his lips to barely brush hers. As he retreated, the pout that crossed her face was too adorable. He responded by kissing her once more, properly. She moaned into his mouth, and he dragged his mouth from hers. Before she could catch her breath, he lifted her from his lap and stood up. He looked at her hungrily, while taking her hand and pulling her out of the gazebo and towards the house.

"Chuck, wait," she said softly.

He smiled, he loved the way his name sounded on her lips. Tuning to look down at her, he was struck by the hesitancy in her eyes. He looked at her in encouragement, and after a pause, she continued, "What guarantee do I have that I will see you again? That you will not disappear, now that you've managed to steal my first kiss?"

Understanding dawned as Chuck pledged, "Blair, nothing could keep me away from you." He rubbed his hands up and down her arms, in an attempt to keep her warm.

"Where were you all this time? Did I do something wrong?" Blair asked, fear creeping into her voice.

"No, of course not. In fact, you did everything right. I credit you with my ascent from the pits of despair. You were my beacon of light, it was the mere thought of you that gave me hope," he confessed.

"Are you all right? What happened?" she pled, her face conflicted with worry and joy.

"It is a terribly lengthy and unhappy story that I will share with you over time. But it had nothing to do with you, it's my father," Chuck explained. "Now, I must send you inside, before you enchant me more than you already have. I cannot be this close to you and be responsible for my actions."

Again he started the short trek to the house. The lure of Blair was so strong, that he had to get her inside and safely away from him. He was so focused on securing her safety that he hadn't noticed she had fallen behind, until he felt her tug on his arm as she pulled away.

"Chuck?" Blair whispered.

"Yes?"

"If you disappear for a few days, like before..." her voice trailed, and stretched into a long pause. The stiffness in her spine and the way she bit her lip indicated that an ultimatum of sorts was about to be issued. "If that happens, I will never speak to you again, and you can never approach me."

Chuck stared at her. She was like a broken angel, her chin quivering, but the steely determination that she had to speak her mind was present. He could not fault her for it. He understood the uncertainty of their courtship thus far—had the situation been reversed, he would have done the same. So he assured her the only way knew how. He slowly walked back to her and fell to his knees in front of her, as he took her hands and brought them to his lips, "Blair, I need you."

She looked down at him, and he saw that she read the sincerity in his eyes. He knew she viewed this gesture as an oath, that this moment was the beginning of something, not the end. She slipped one hand out of his, and ran it through his hair, and then nodded. Chuck stood up, and this time when he led her towards the townhouse, she matched her steps with his.

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The strange comprehension and awareness the three shared was instantaneous. Chuck had let Blair walk up the steps to the terrace alone, following her movements from the garden. Just as she had reached the door, Chuck turned to leave, when her loud gasp had him spinning back. Sneaking out of the door that Blair was trying to sneak in to, was none other than Viscount Hadley.

Nate looked down at Blair in surprise as he catalogued her swollen lips and flushed skin. She maintained an air of both guilt and curiosity. She looked away—modesty demanded it. He watched her wrap the shawl around her more tightly. Concern laced through Nate, as he scanned the garden to see if anyone was hiding in the shadows, if her debaucher was still on the premises. Blue eyes met brown and Chuck's all too knowing smirk glistened, even in the dark. Amusement softly faded into tenderness, and Nate knew that Chuck was no longer staring at him, he only had eyes for Miss Waldorf. To his awe, Blair bestowed the sweetest of smiles on Chuck, as she slipped past him and shut the French doors quietly behind her.

Nate walked towards Chuck and raised his brow. "Little late for a visit, wouldn't you say?"

Chuck shrugged and countered, "Little early to call on your intended, wouldn't you say?"

Nate rolled his eyes. "The contracts have been signed for months, nothing is going to stop me from marrying Serena. Can you say the same?"

"I missed her, it's not a big deal," Chuck offered.

"You have barricaded yourself at your home for the past week, without sight or sound. Arthur said you were accepting no visitors, not even me. And suddenly, I find you in the dead of night cavorting with Miss Waldorf? With you two, it seems like it's always a big deal," Nate noted.

"I was _not_ cavorting with her. I told you, I _missed_ her," Chuck said tightly.

"Sure, missed sampling her charms, is more like it," Nate mocked.

"I'm warning you Nathaniel, tread carefully, I will not have you besmirch her name," Chuck said coolly, looking as though he wanted to physically harm him. "I would not compromise her virtue."

Nate stared at Chuck for a long moment. The anger in Chuck's eyes and the vein throbbing in his neck, told Nate everything he needed to know, this was not a game that was being played. With a sigh, he threw his arm around his friend and asked, "How did you manage to get in?"

"I may have climbed a fence."

"Since we've been friends for so long, I'll show you where Serena hid a key to the gate."

"I suppose that could be helpful."

"If you'd rather climb the fence, I'd be more than happy to watch."

The two men looked at each other, and burst into laughter as they exited the garden. They neglected to observe the curtain in the window that was being tugged back into place, Eleanor Waldorf had seen everything.

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Chuck knew with dread that in all likelihood, he was not going to make it to the van der Woodsen home in time to call on Blair. Nate had ended up coming back to the house with him, and they may have shared a glass of scotch, or four, and he had overslept, badly. Chuck hadn't realized how starved for company he had been, the self-imposed isolation had done more harm than good. He had spent time with his two favorite people, and that had restored his spirits.

Stopping by the flower cart on his way to see Blair, Chuck hoped that she wouldn't be upset by his tardiness. Surely she had as late of a start as he had. The niggling fear, that she would view the missed afternoon call as a disappearance, weighed heavily on his mind. He glanced down at the bouquet of hydrangeas, mentally willing his coachman to drive the carriage faster.

Finally arriving at his destination, he practically flung himself out and all but ran up the stairs. Before he could even knock on the door, Vanya had opened it, gesturing for him to enter. Just as he began to feel relief, Vanya smiled sympathetically and shook his head. "Lord Bass, I'm afraid you're too late. Miss Blair left the house just a few minutes ago."

A sigh of exasperation left Chuck, as he thrust the bouquet at Vanya.

"Miss Blair, did leave instructions for me to inform you that she will be at the Strickland's ball tonight."

Chuck eyed Vanya for a moment, before making a request, "Vanya, if I were to leave a note with the flowers, what are the chances that the note would make it to Miss Waldorf without anyone else being the wiser?"

"Lord Bass, there is a writing table in the drawing room, with stationary and some quills. I shall return in a quarter of an hour. Will that suffice, my lord?"

Chuck nodded as he was ushered into the increasingly familiar room. As he sat at the desk, his mind raced, trying to put his emotions into words.

_My dearest Blair—_

_I find myself having to apologize to you, yet again. I am sorry to have missed calling hours. While this is a flimsy excuse at best, I overslept this morning. I had the most exquisite dream that I did not wish to wake from. There was a vision in my dream that was intoxicating and seemed so real, I hope it was not a mere figment of imagination to have felt something that beautiful. _

_Enjoy these flowers as a token of my affection and sincerest regret for having been unable to see you today. I pray that tonight will bring me better luck._

_Yours,_

_Chuck_

With a hidden smile, Chuck carefully folded his missive and tucked it into an envelope. The discreet knock alerted him to Vanya's presence, and he stood up. Chuck stepped through the drawing room doors and into the foyer, where the van der Woodsen's butler waited. With a nod, he entrusted Vanya with the letter and showed himself out.

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.

Blair waited patiently for Chuck to arrive at the Strickland home. It was almost inconceivable how different things were from a mere twenty-four hours earlier. Last night, she had been at her breaking point, yet now, she was on the precipice of flourishing. She thought back to the first note he had ever sent her, it seemed that Chuck's prophecy had been correct. _May you flourish…_

It was as though she were sleepwalking through the day, scared to be fully awake. Like the note that had been hidden in her room, she wanted to believe that what she had experienced was real. Blair flushed every time she thought about Chuck's mouth, how it had been all over her face and neck. And she turned almost crimson when she recalled the feel of his skin. She had been near shameful with her attentions to his body, but she had been unable to stop herself. There was no way she could have predicted the devotion in which she lavished on his skin.

After unexpectedly running into Lord Archibald, Blair had wanted to go straight to Serena's room, and ask her what was going on between the two of them. She had wanted to confide the details of her wondrous first kiss and to squeal in joy that Lord Bass had not run from her. But emotional exhaustion had taken its toll from the highs and lows of her day, and she had sunken into a deep sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Blair had awoken with the biggest grin on her face, and had wanted to do nothing but loll around in bed and relive each kiss they had shared.

When she had rung the bell for Dorota, the disapproving look that her maid had given her had been a first. As she wondered what she could have done to deserve it, she heard Dorota mutter, "Sleeping past luncheon, what is this world coming to?"

"Dorota! What time is it?"

"Half past noon, Miss Blair. Mrs. Eleanor says not to disturb you, and wait until you called for me," her maid admitted.

The revelation had shocked her. Her mother did not believe a lady should sleep past nine. Even after the night of her come out ball, she had sat down to breakfast around ten. What could possibly have convinced her mother to ignore her staunch rule?

"Mrs. Eleanor says that after your bath and a snack, that you are to go directly to the shop for your dress fitting," Dorota continued.

Trying at analyze her mother's motivations flew from her mind, as she came to grips with the fact that she had slept the entire morning away! Blair nibbled on her croissant and sipped her tea, while she waited for her bath to be drawn. She wondered if he had called on her, only to be turned away. Her stomach fluttered, what if he did not come to see her? As she took a deep breath, she rationalized that if she had just woken up, he could possibly still be asleep. She recalled the sincerity in his eyes when he had told her,_ I need you_. Chuck wouldn't disappoint her, she was sure of it.

As a precautionary measure, Blair had left instructions with Vanya to tell Lord Bass that she would be at the Strickland ball that evening. If she miscalculated, she would feel like an idiot for trusting him too much. But she could not ignore that Chuck had been almost chaste in their kisses, letting nothing go too far. He had made her feel cherished.

When she returned from her errands and walked through the door, she looked hopefully at Vanya. His face had been impassive, so she had kept her questions to herself, ignoring the prickling of distress that was building.

The bouquet of hydrangeas that sat next to her bed with an envelope barely peeking out from under the vase, had her heart skipping. She recognized the strong, crisp lines of his penmanship, and had to calm herself, as she fumbled with tearing open the letter. When she finally read the words he had so carefully crafted, she glanced at the flowers before lying back on her bed, clutching the letter to her chest.

Blair had been unable to stop from smiling for the rest of the day, long after she had tucked that note away in her trinket box, with all of his other letters. She had breezed right through dinner, on a cloud of happiness. The look exchanged by Lily and Serena, for once, escaped her notice. When Eleanor had come into her room, she nodded approvingly at the empire waist cerulean blue gown. Leaning over, her mother snapped off a branch of the lovely hydrangeas and tucked it into a beaming Blair's hair.

Instead of walking into the Strickland house feeling like a disgraced debutante, she had glided in as though she were a queen. Blair had felt the eyes of the guests upon her, as even she could not ignore the glow that was radiating off of her. The serenity that thrummed through her veins was cause for speculation, as the tittering had started to rise to a buzz.

As her suitors clamored for her attention, she politely refused all offers for a dance. Blair knew that when Chuck arrived he would want to claim a waltz. The one thing she had learned at dawn that morning was that saying 'no' to Chuck Bass was not an easy task for her. Especially with the rumors that had run amuck through the ton over the past two weeks. Blair could not be seen caving so easily to Chuck, it would only lend authenticity to the suggestion that she had been tossed aside. She would be seen as too eager to reclaim his attention.

Blair did not have to wait long, for within a quarter of an hour, Marquess Stanhope had presented himself. Her suitors paved a path for him, and he stood directly in front of her. Chuck bowed handsomely, for all to see. "Miss Waldorf."

"Lord Bass," she said, dropping into a perfunctory curtsey.

"I see you have not stopped putting every woman to shame with your beauty," he said clearly, as he appreciatively eyed the line of her bosom. The room had fallen silent, their peers, toppling over one another to get a glimpse of this long awaited meeting.

Blair blushed prettily and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"The hydrangeas in your hair are lovely," he remarked, the implication that they were from him was missed by no one.

"Thank you, my lord, they were a gift."

In a slightly lower tone he asked, "Would it be too forward for me to assume, you saved me a waltz?"

Blair coolly said, "I'm afraid not. I do not plan on dancing tonight."

"No?"

"No."

"Care to enlighten me why?"

"I cannot be seen capitulating this early. You don't know what has been said about me, about _us_, while you've been gone."

"Tell me who said what, and I will settle this tonight. I will not have anyone speaking ill of you, Blair."

"Stop! You'll only cause a scene, and we've had quite enough of those for a lifetime. So please, if you have a care, wipe the frown off your face and fetch me some lemonade," Blair ordered.

Chuck gave a curt nod and walked away, doing as she had bid. When he returned, he bluntly asked, "How long are you going to require me to do the pretty?"

"Until you show up to Almack's and waltz with me. Prior to that, it would be advised that you show up every morning during calling hours. Furthermore Lord Bass, you should be at every other ball I choose to attend and stand by my side, _not dancing_."

"So we're back to that, again? Am I now refer to you as Miss Waldorf?" he asked bitterly.

"No, Chuck," Blair whispered with a hint of a smile. "This all just needs to play out in a certain way to appease the gossipmongers. It isn't such a hardship, is it? Talking to me?"

He gazed reverently at her mouth. "Talking to you, Blair, is my second favorite thing."

And like clockwork, Chuck had showed up to her house each of the next three mornings, with a glorious and exotic arrangement of flowers. Not only was he the first visitor, but he was also the last to leave, and never once did he betray a look of boredom. He went so far as to be early to both of the balls that were on Blair's agenda, meeting her at the door and squiring her around for the evening. Chuck played the role of perfect gentleman to the hilt, causing larger waves of rumors to start, wondering if Miss Waldorf was the one to reform this rake, and dragging him to the marriage alter.

Blair couldn't have asked for a more perfect evening at Almack's. Not only had she been credited for finally brining Chuck there, he had charmed each and every patroness. When Blair arrived, it was Lady Jersey, herself, who ushered her to Chuck's side. As Lady Jersey signaled for a waltz to commence, she demanded Blair assist easing Chuck's first visit to the hallowed halls. Chuck drew her into his arms and looked down at her adoringly and asked, "Is all forgiven, now?"

She looked up at him dreamily and said, "Yes."

The betting books at White's and the biggest gossips in town were thunderous in the odds that the always aloof 'passionate corpse', Marquess Stanhope would be engaged before the end of the Season.

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The leisurely stroll through London's Botanical Garden was strangely peaceful. It was the end of October, and with the weather turning crisp, few members of the ton ventured outdoors. The banter between Chuck and Blair during the carriage ride over had been invigorating. Blair had never before had someone match wits so thoroughly with. She had been so absorbed that she hadn't realized they arrived until the door had opened. It was surprising that in all the years since meeting Chuck, it had never occurred to her how lonely it would be for her. That his suggestion and encouragement that she pursue her love of the written word would alienate her from so many others. She had not met many people who could keep up with her, and she had been so blinded by Chuck's beauty and kindness, it had not crossed her mind that he could be like the many. Fortunately for her, he had intelligence in spades. "You don't get nearly enough credit for you wit."

"Perhaps I give you entirely too much for yours?" He shot back.

Her eyes narrowed sharply, as her foot itched to make contact with his shin.

As he guided her through the main gate, he placed his hand on the small of her back and murmured, "If you kick me, I will punish us both, by allowing no alone time for the next two days. Think about that Blair, my hands and mouth will be nowhere near you delectable little body, should you continue down this path. I still have the bruises from your last kick."

She weighed her options for a moment, before responding by bursting into giggles. It was certain that if one of them were to suffer more from abstaining from contact, assuredly it'd be her. As the days flew by, she was becoming more and more attached to the taste of his mouth, and the way his hands had mastered her body. She felt a bit brazen at the frequency she kept finding hidden spaces, wanting yet another moment alone to physically explore Chuck. Blair pouted, "Two days are an eternity, especially when two hours seems to be too much as is! It's not fair! You know me too well, already!"

Chuck smirked. "I don't know you nearly as well as I want to."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours," he answered simply.

"Mine?" she sputtered. "How can that be?"

"Because you make me want to cherish you, and the idea of taking anything from you seems wrong. You've turned me into a gentleman," he confessed.

"But it is not taking, if I am offering it to you freely, Chuck," she challenged.

"There is no need to rush things, Blair, I'm not going anywhere. We shouldn't rush fate."

"But we shouldn't stand in its way, either," she said pointedly.

He smiled and lifted her palm to his lips. The tenor of this conversation was much too serious for where they were. Chuck's lust for her had not diminished in the slightest, with each discovery or nuance of her response to him, he was increasingly more fixated on her. He could not let her know how easily she could seduce him. "If I let you sit on my lap with the shades drawn on the ride home, can this discussion be temporarily postponed?"

The unabashed yearning in her eyes and the way she licked her upper lip, momentarily distracted him. The breathy _yes_, caused him to sigh with relief. They continued through the virtually empty grounds, each lost in their own thoughts.

The calm was shattered by a familiar voice heard from a distance. It was a voice that plagued him his entire life. It was all too much, this could not be happening again, especially not with Blair at his side. Chuck didn't know how he could have successfully avoided his father for the past four years, only to have run into him twice this month. Unconsciously, he turned towards the source of his nightmares, and he saw the back of his father's head across the park. He was paralyzed again, as though it were three weeks ago, unable to take control of his own emotions.

Blair touched his shoulder, but he could not stop himself as he wrenched away from her and started to run. She called out his name, but he ignored her, running faster and faster. Finally he slipped, and he stumbled backwards until his back met with an ivy covered brick wall. Chuck slid to the ground as he raked his hands through his hair, shaking his head, _no, no, no_. He had no sense of how long he sat on the ground, struggling to breathe and fighting valiantly to calm down. Blair's voice broke through his haze, "Chuck?"

He looked up, eyes red, with a tear streaming down his cheek. She looked almost frightened at the sight of him, and when she bravely leaned over and kissed away his tear, he closed his eyes. Chuck had been foolish to think that he could win Blair over, without her being exposed to this dark side of him. Once he told her, she would want nothing to do with him. She may have been able to overlook his mother's death, but how could she learn to love him if even his father did not?

"Chuck, please, tell me what's bothering you? I can't bear to see you like this," she begged. Her forehead rested above his ear, as he felt her light breath on his skin. "Whatever it is, we'll work it out."

He shook his head. "You won't want to be near me after I tell you, and I can't blame you for it."

"You're wrong," she said firmly. She reminded him of the words he said to her, "Chuck, nothing could keep me away from you."

He laughed hollowly, "Are you sure?"

She remained silent, as one hand began to gently stroke his face, the other taming his disheveled curls.

"You told me weeks ago, the first time we were alone together, that it wasn't my fault—what happened to my mother. Well try explaining that to my father, he blames me for her death. He didn't talk to me for over a year after she died. I was nine years old, and he hid from me for an entire year."

"Chuck…" she said sorrowfully.

"Don't pity me! I can't bear the idea that you feel sorry for me. The reason I didn't want to partner you for your come out, is because of this. You are inexplicably linked to my father. I had been summoned back to the ducal estate moments after we met. I had been in a good mood for the first time in years when arriving there—you had entertained me to no end. That's why I sent you that gift, as a thank you for bringing me a reprieve from the realities of my life. When I arrived home, we had a huge fight, again, and I left. His last words to me were 'You're an embarrassment and disappointment to me.'" He stopped speaking, and braced himself for Blair to untangle herself from him.

"I don't pity you, Chuck, I pity him. He sounds like the most miserable excuse for a father," she snapped sharply. "But I don't understand why you are reacting this way in this moment. What has caused this?"

"He's here, at the gardens," Chuck whispered. "Every time I see him, I feel like a child and his words wash over me, again and again. Normally it's the bottomless scotch that finally drowns it out. I saw him after the picnic, that's why I disappeared last time."

"That's what you meant, when you said that I gave you hope? You thought of me and it broke your downward spiral?"

He nodded, knowing that he was giving her the ammunition to destroy him. But suddenly, he felt her lips meet his, and tasted her own salty tears on his lips. The ferocity in which she kissed him was a salve to the years of pain he had felt.

When they came up for air, he crushed her to him tightly.

She kept repeating gently in his ear, "You have me, that's all you need."

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_**tbc**_

* * *

Again, I like, Chuck, find myself having to apologize for the delay in posting. I was struggling with the timeline for the rest of the story, and it needed to be resolved before I continued plugging along.

To the readers and reviewers who continue on this journey, I sincerely thank you for reading my scribblings.

Dedicated as always to the lovely and amazing Noirreigne, who not only betas my work, is a constant source of inspiration and sounding board to bounce ideas off of.


	9. ch 8: father and mother know best

Eleanor finished the last sentence of her letter and signed it with her customary flourish. As she held the paper up to the light, she reread her words and with a firm nod, folded the letter. A sigh escaped her as she reached for an envelope—protecting one's daughter was hard work. Sealing the summons with her elegant wax seal—the cursive letters EW intertwined—Eleanor wondered for one brief moment if she was doing the right thing. She knew that her actions were driven by fear. Watching Blair blossom into a confident woman over the last month was a revelation. It also seemed that Lord Bass was falling deeper and deeper for her.

She liked to think that she had cultivated Blair into someone worthy of being a queen. Slowly her memories of her daughter as a child fluttered to the surface. Blair had not always been as comely as she was now. She was a rather average, albeit meticulous, looking toddler, except for her overly expressive eyes. Blair had resembled a porcelain doll until she was about eight. At nine, the awkwardness started to plague her. While her features individually were quite striking, they seemed to overwhelm her. Her eyes were too wide and large for her face. There was an element of disproportion—her legs too long, her arms too lanky. And her hair had been uncommonly dark and very thick. Yet despite that, Eleanor had been certain, that her daughter would become a beauty—it was only a matter of how beautiful. It was at fifteen when Eleanor had finally gotten the confirmation that as with everything else, Blair had overachieved in beauty as well.

Blair's mind absorbed information like a sponge, and her incessant need to know everything had aided in her devouring every possible tome she could read. She was also clever, observant and had the memory of an elephant. Details would not go unnoticed, nor would the slights that she carried like scars. Blair was such a delightful compilation of contradictions. Eleanor had perhaps been too careful in her self-discipline of praising her daughter, as was evident from their chat before the come out ball. But still, she had to believe her actions were for the best. Back then, Eleanor had sought to balance out Harold's penchant for indulging Blair's overactive imagination—always picturing herself as a fairy princess waiting for her prince to come rescue her. As a mother, she had been fearful that having such unrealistic hopes and dreams would weaken her, making her vulnerable to all sorts of social attacks. Upon meeting Lord Bass, she understood that there was an actual basis for these dreams, and not some mythical fantasy that had no chance to exist.

While it appeared to the ton that Blair was well on her way to "catching herself a Bass", Eleanor did not doubt that Blair was the only one who didn't think so. Despite the exuberance about the amount of time she got to spend with Chuck, it was clear that Blair did not take it for granted. Since the night he had climbed the fence and stolen Blair's first kiss, they had almost exclusively been in each other's pockets. She momentarily questioned if she were doing a disservice to her daughter by allowing her, even subtly encouraging her, to explore her physical intimacy with the Marquess. She'd have to be a blind fool not to notice the increasing number of times Blair would disappear at balls, only to materialize with her lips too swollen, her skin flushed with a hint of satisfaction and her hair mussed. How Chuck had not instructed her to press cold water to her lips to lessen the swelling, was ludicrous. But then again, it was possible that he did not suggest these things because discretion was never required. Chuck Bass did not dally with debutantes.

Eleanor had thoroughly enjoyed the pleasures of her marriage bed, as well as a few indiscretions over the years, and it would be better that Blair did not view the marriage bed as a _duty_. So long as Blair had not surrendered the one thing that would fetch the ring on her finger, Eleanor was more than willing to let her daughter's exploration take its course. But assurances were needed, and she had spent the better part of her morning interviewing detectives about both the Duke of Rowley and the Marquess of Stanhope. Eleanor had garnered all the information she could without raising suspicion, but she was certain there was more to their story. She noticed how the Duke's arrival in town had coincided with the Marquess' sudden and unaccounted absence from the ton.

If she were going to secure Blair's future happiness, have the last of the late Lord Waldorf's debts paid off, as well as debut her fashion house—it was going to have to be done with stealth and cunning. Blair needn't be aware of any of these things. Ignorance would be absolution. As she addressed her missive to the Duke himself, Eleanor recognized Rebecca's firm rap on the door. "You may enter."

With a quick bob and curtsey, Rebecca handed her a plain yet elegant envelope. "This was just delivered, my lady."

"You are dismissed," Eleanor said with a nod, as she fingered the rather beautiful stationary carefully. The deep cream colored envelope was much more ornate when looked at closely—a subtle pattern of the Crest of Rowley. With a wide smile she turned the envelope over and saw the ducal wax seal in a beautiful burgundy tone. She leaned back in her chair and allowed herself a moment to savor the victory she knew was within her grasp. The wax on her own letter had not yet firmed, and already the Duke was prepared to negotiate, Eleanor thought triumphantly.

Despite her bravado, there was a sense of relief, she had been entirely uncertain as to how deep the breach between the Duke and Marquess had been. And even with her painstakingly careful inquiries about their relationship, most people were at a complete loss as to what had caused their rift. In fact, many preferred to believe that no misunderstanding existed, that the Basses were simply a breed of cold and unfeeling men who had no time for sentiments. But having observed Chuck grapple with his emotions towards Blair, she was positive there was more to the story. As Eleanor finally opened the letter, realization struck her and she froze. This letter had been delivered to her dress shop. As panic was about to set in, a second, much more logical thought occurred to her, _the Duke knew_. Bart Bass knew that the Waldorfs' were in debt, that she was involved in trade and he still wanted to arrange the marriage of their children.

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Blair was curled on the settee in the music room with a book, when Vanya knocked on the door. "Miss Blair, the Marquess is here to see you."

A guilty smile crossed her face. "Vanya, could you please show him in here?"

Vanya nodded before exiting. Although it was clearly improper for Lord Bass to be shown to any of the private rooms in the house, there were many other more improper things that went on. As a good servant should, he said nothing. Sure enough, the Marquess was already striding towards him, as Vanya stepped back and gestured to the open door.

Chuck leaned against the doorway with a look of concern. "Lady van der Woodsen sent me up. Blair, are you feeling well? I can send for my doctor right away—"

"Chuck!" Blair interrupted with a laugh. She looked contrite as he walked towards her. "Thank you for your concern, but I am well. I'm sorry that my message got to you too late last night. Did Serena pass along that Mother and I have just been over tired with all the balls and dinners? Am I forgiven?"

He tenderly cupped her face and looked deeply into her eyes, before he brushed a thumb against her lips. With a sigh, he pressed a kiss on her forehead and sat down next to her. He idly took her hand and started to caress her skin. Now that he had confirmed with his own eyes that Blair was well, mild irritation washed over. "Some form of punishment may be required."

"Punishment?"

"Yes, Miss van der Woodsen told me just as we were called to dinner. I was then _forced_ to escort Countess Langley," Chuck said pointedly.

"But aren't you friends with her second son, Lord Roberts?" Blair asked, befuddled by his annoyance.

Chuck nodded, as he glared at her.

"Well, then why are you upset? She is not one of the dragons of the ton."

"The reason I am upset, is because the Countess spent the entire dinner begging me to help reform all of her sons. 'Might your Miss Waldorf know someone suitable, especially for my Braden?'" Chuck spat as he mimicked a high pitched voice. "It was unbearable. She then proceeded to list all my faults that you have apparently _corrected_."

When he turned to her, her free hand was clamped over her mouth, and her eyes were filled with mirth. He could see her biting her lip, trying not to laugh out loud. Chuck dropped her hand from his and crossed his arms, he was not amused.

At that moment, Blair didn't even try to conceal her enjoyment of his predicament, as she started to shake with laughter, the cadence of her voice tinkling throughout the room. Chuck scowled as it was minutes before Blair managed to get a hold of herself.

"Perhaps in lieu of a punishment for your _horrible_ evening, you would accept a present?" Blair negotiated.

"A present?" Chuck asked. A sense of eagerness, yet bewilderment ran through his mind.

"Yes, you know those things that sometimes come in parcels? Sometimes they are wrapped with paper or a bow?" Blair continued, rolling her eyes. "It's kind of silly, really, and more of a trinket than a present, but when I saw it, it made me both think of you and laugh."

Chuck froze. He wanted to respond in kind, in a light tone. How did she manage to keep stumbling on locked doors, doors with keys that had been hidden for over a decade? It was unnerving.

"Was it improper for me to have gotten you a gift?" Blair asked shyly, and he could hear the worry in her voice. Before he could stop her, she quickly rushed on. "You keep bringing me the loveliest things, and I felt the need to reciprocate. I know it won't be anything close to as wonderful as what you've gotten me. Let me go fetch it."

She had almost reached the door when he grabbed her elbow, and spun her towards him. He hissed, "Blair, you didn't have to get me something, you don't owe me anything."

"But I wanted to get you something, Chuck." The confusion in her voice was clear. The note of hurt he heard as she continued prickled his conscience. "Do you _not_ want a gift from me? Are you afraid it won't be good enough for you?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I just don't want you to feel obligated to do anything. I enjoy your company. I enjoy buying you these tokens of my affection. You are not required to _reciprocate_. You already have my undivided attention, you don't need to bribe me to be around you," he snarled.

"You're accusing me of bribing you?" Blair asked in astonishment. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you if that's what you're doing with me?"

"Isn't that the only reason you see fit to make time for me? You refused to spend time with me until I started bringing gifts for you," Chuck said coldly, unable to stop himself from giving voice to the words he feared were true.

She took a deep breath, and he felt her walk over to him and stare. He stood in agonizing stillness as time seemed to tick away. He felt her eyes on him and stubbornly refused to look at her. Finally she sighed, and he felt her hands cup his face. He couldn't stop himself from flinching or closing his eyes. He did not want to see her when she apologized, proving that his words were truth.

"While I adore your presents, I don't need them." He attempted to jerk back from her touch, but she simply tightened her grip. "Look at me, Chuck."

He kept his eyes closed and shook his head. He didn't want her to see the hope in his eyes, that her words were sincere. She sighed. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

With her footsteps fading, he knew it was safe to open his eyes. What had just happened? What was it about Blair that made his behavior spiral out of control? She simply triggered too many emotions, but their pull was as undeniable as ever, he was helplessly drawn to her. If he didn't watch himself, she would think him a madman. He could not bury his already carefully concealed insecurities fast enough.

How could he tell her that the last time he received a gift was for his 9th birthday? That in his youth he had had tossed money around at his days at Eton to give the allusion that he had friends, only to hide the loneliness that plagued him? Nathaniel had been the only one who had actually treated him like a friend—not as a future duke or the bankroller of Eton's wildest escapades. The experience at Eton had caused him to behave to the opposite extreme towards women. The strange embarrassment he had felt at trying to buy a stable of friends had scarred him in a way. The society women who graced his bed were never gifted anything, while ballerinas, opera singers and women in need of protection were gifted cash. The impersonality made it glaringly obvious that his emotions were not engaged. The sound of Blair walking down the stairs provoked a deep sigh, how was he ever going to explain this without making a complete ass of himself.

Blair entered the room secreting something behind her back. With a sheepish grin she ordered, "Close your eyes, Chuck."

The look of disbelief that crossed his face was priceless, she thought. She suspected that she must have hit a nerve, but she was clueless as to which of the seemingly endless ones she could possibly have disrupted today. Chuck was lucky that she loved puzzles as much as she was learning to love him. Blair wanted to conquer each and every last one of his demons. She only hoped that he would keep her around long enough to share them with her.

And so she tapped her toe until Chuck rolled his eyes and did as she directed. With a deep breath, she pulled out the toffee lollies she had seen at the confectioner's yesterday afternoon. They had been fashioned into a bouquet with a silk, white on white polka dot pattern, cravat as a ribbon. "Open your eyes."

Chuck's eyes opened and then dropped down. At the sight of the present, an unabashed grin lit his face. "How did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I have a weakness for lollies, especially toffee ones?"

"Toffees are the only sweet I've ever seen you eat," Blair answered as Chuck took the bouquet from her. He offered for her to take one, but she shook her head. "I picked up a tin of caramels for myself."

As he started to inspect the scrap of silk that held the treats together, he noticed the high quality of silk, as well as the subtle yet interesting pattern. "Polka dots?"

"I did tell you that it made me laugh, did I not? Since it's still all white, I thought it might make for a festive occasion," Blair shrugged, sensing that the tense moment was beginning to fade.

"This is the most perfect present I've ever received," Chuck said gravely. "Thank you."

"There's no need to exaggerate. I'm just glad that you liked it," said a blushing Blair. Her eyes darted everywhere but back at him. She hadn't noticed the softening of his features.

"You're amazing," Chuck whispered. He reached for her hand, and slowly rubbed his thumb against her palm. "I really don't think I deserve you."

"Let me be the judge of that, Bass," she said, her eyes involuntarily closing as he continued his light stroke. When she felt him draw her into an embrace, she smiled in relief.

A ghost had been vanquished.

.

.

.

With a glance at the grandfather clock across the room, the Duke of Rowley, Bartholomew Bass reached for the glass of scotch on his desk. He was beginning to wonder if summoning Lady Waldorf had been premature on his part. He dissected all the information that Harrison had provided, coupled with his inadvertent observations over the past weeks. His initial instinct had to be correct. Charles was on the precipice of falling in love, if he wasn't in love already. Bart had witnessed more than he bargained for when he had gone to visit the Natural Sciences museum last week. While he was waiting for the chairman to finish an earlier engagement, Bart had started to wander around the museum he was to provide an endowment for. As he aimlessly walked from room to room, he was soon interrupted.

"_Chuck!" A breathy giggle rang throughout the room._

"_Blair!" Bart had heard Chuck tease back. The sound of his son's voice had startled him, and instinctively, he moved behind a large pillar. "I do believe I've won our bet, and I will collect the first of the many kisses you owe me—now."_

"_Are you insane? Do you want to get caught? Are you trying to ruin me?" Blair demanded with her hands on her hips with a look of annoyance on her face. _

"_I believe the bet also required for your complete submission and the absence of an argument. Look around, there is not a soul present, save for you and I. And the fire in your eyes tells me that you want to kiss me as much as I want you to," Chuck said in a seductive voice. Bart stood frozen as he felt torn between stepping out to save this poor girl or stepping out to scold his son like a child. Bart was grateful that the pillar was large enough to keep him hidden. He was pleased to note the large mirror that was angled directly towards Chuck and Blair, so he could watch this entire scene play out, and step in if necessary._

_Blair stamped her feet. "I already told you—you cheated, Chuck Bass! You are playing a game of semantics. Dionysius allegedly sold Plato into slavery and you know it! I shouldn't have to forfeit the bet on the account of a technicality."_

_Bart stood in complete silence as he saw the fiery look of determination in the young, petite brunette. Her eyes sparkled and she glowed—she was breathtaking. That she was arguing philosophy with his son and appeared to be educated was unusual—she did not look at all like a bluestocking should. And best of all, she appeared to be completely unfazed by his son. With a smirk and a laugh, Chuck countered, "I asked you who sold Plato into slavery, and unfortunately, your answer is still incorrect. The correct answer would be Dionysius the Old, for is there not a Dionysius the Young?"_

"_You are insufferable, Chuck Bass!" With a dramatic sigh, Blair glanced around the large, seemingly empty room. Before Bart could bat an eye, she leaned over and placed her hands on Chuck's chest, rolled her eyes and said, "Fine! You win!"_

_He watched in awe as she pushed his son against another pillar and wrapped her arms around Chuck's neck and pulled his face closer to hers before she brushed her mouth agonizingly slow against his. She lightly nipped around his lips, until Bart heard Chuck growl, "Waldorf, stop toying with me. You're being a sore loser, even though you are winning. Don't be mad that it is I who gets to choose when the kisses happen, not you." And then Chuck's arms wrapped firmly around her waist, as he crashed his lips to hers. _

_Bart knew he shouldn't keep watching, but he felt somewhat transfixed—this playful side of his son was wholly unknown to him. It wasn't as if he were unaware of Chuck's rather legendary list of paramours—could you call them mistresses if you never involved yourself with one for more than a week? There was a measure of fatherly pride when Bart heard how sought after Chuck was in the bedroom, like father, like son, he had thought. But he had also heard his son preferred his women well above the age of consent—that he had kept far, far away from young innocents as this Miss Waldorf. Yet here he stood, mere feet away from his son and this debutante, who were engaged in this illicit behavior—in public. Chuck had to be aware that if someone were to walk in on them, he would have to marry the chit. _

"_Chuck, what if someone comes in?" Blair managed to ask in between moans, as Chuck had started to trail his mouth to her neck as he molded her body to fit his. _

"_They should enjoy the show," Chuck answered back, completely focused on licking every inch of her delectable throat. Chuck shifted so that Blair was now the one against the pillar, and as his lips made their way down to the top of her bosom, loud footsteps were heard from the room over. Blair gasped, and looked at Chuck, her eyes fearful. Chuck carefully adjusted her dress, pressed the most delicate of kisses in her palm before lacing his fingers with hers, and pulling her into the next room just as the voices floated in. "Sir, I told His Grace that you would be with him shortly. He must have wandered off, I'm certain we will locate him."_

Bart had leaned back against the pillar, in hopes that the chairman and his secretary wouldn't see him. He wanted Charles and Miss Waldorf to be firmly out of sight before he joined them. Bart had never seen his son so enamored before—even as a child, he was rarely playful. Charles was all about well-placed wicked and sly comments. He always behaved as though he had been born a grown adult, and at times Bart wondered if his son's childhood at simply been a mirage. But the glow in Charles's eyes as he had teased Miss Waldorf, and the way he had held her hand as they escaped to the next room—these were telltale signs, Bart acknowledged. All that needed to be confirmed was that Miss Waldorf's reputation was respectable, and the issue of the future Duchess of Rowley would be settled.

Simultaneously the clock struck four p.m. as Kendrick's distinctive knock sounded. Bart looked up as his study doors slid open and Kendrick announced, "Lady Waldorf, Your Grace."

Eleanor entered the room and dropped into a modest curtsey. "Your Grace."

"Lady Waldorf," Bart bowed. Crossing the room, he took her hand. "Thank you for coming so quickly, I apologize for not having given you proper notice. May I offer you something to drink? Lemonade? Tea?"

Eleanor observed Bart and all the niceties he exuded, and mentally rolled her eyes. So this was how he was going to play it, she thought. This could take forever. "I'll have a scotch, same as you."

The butler's guffaw was unmistakable. Eleanor maintained a straight face and did not bat an eye.

"Kendrick, you're excused," Bart barked out, as he crossed the room to pour Eleanor a finger or two of scotch.

When Bart's back was turned to Eleanor, he couldn't help but let a grin cross his face, like mother, like daughter, he thought. This was too grand! Charles would have his hands full with both his future wife _and_ his future mother-in-law. When he turned around, an impassive look was pinned to his face, and to his surprise, Eleanor had not remained standing, she had taken one of the seats in front of his desk. As he handed Eleanor her scotch, he raised an eyebrow, "Are we dispensing with propriety?"

"The weather has been absolutely splendid, considering the time of year. What a grand home you have. How is your cousin, Lady Pershing, it has been ages since I've last seen her, please give her my regards," Eleanor recited. "Is that good enough?"

Bart laughed out loud, "The weather has been enjoyable. Thank you for your compliments, the home suits me well. Lady Pershing is in fine health, last I heard. I must admire you Lady Waldorf, you are nothing like I expected, and it seems that it is _you_ your daughter takes after."

"Please, call me Eleanor," she said as she leaned back and took a sip of her scotch. She closed her eyes and savored the taste, it had been some time since she had had such a fine vintage. Her eyes narrowed as she opened them. "When have you met _my_ daughter, Your Grace?

"Bart, I insist you call me Bart," he said with a calculated smile. Eleanor may have surprised him, but she was a fool if she thought she would have the upper hand in this. "I may have seen your daughter in a compromising position with my son some time last week—_in public_."

Eleanor let out a short laugh, "And that is supposed to shock me? Your son is handsome, titled and charming—do you really expect me to believe that he is chastely courting my daughter? His reputation precedes him, it is legendary, dare I say. I am sure that it was not the first, nor will it be the last 'compromising position' that will be shared between the two of them."

It was Bart's turn to narrow his eyes. "So you are encouraging their physical attraction?"

"Don't be absurd! Of course I'm not, but I'm not adverse to Blair exploring what your son has to offer in the realm of physical pleasure. She'll only be married once, _Bart_, and I'd like her to choose a man who will fit multiple criteria."

"Ahhh, multiple criteria? Are you also planning on viewing his bank statement, _Eleanor_?"

"That was low—even for you. But I shall let it pass. You know exactly what situation I find myself in, don't you? Don't thing it went unnoticed where you chose to send your summons for me. And I'll have you know, that while money is _one_ of the criteria, it is not the only one. I've put myself in a situation where Blair can be selective. She does not have to take the first offer thrown her way" Eleanor returned.

"When I saw your daughter and my son, she was arguing with Charles about semantics and the name of a philosopher. She was beautiful, fearless and intelligent. She also seemed very taken with my son," Bart offered. Eleanor Waldorf was not to be trifled with, and suddenly the possible union of their children seemed to be even more promising.

Eleanor snorted. "Taken is an understatement. And for the record, you can stop pretending that you might not approve of her. We both know if you were trying to get rid of her, you would have shown up to the dress shop, instead of inviting me here." Bart nodded and she continued, "Blair would be mortified that I'm telling you this, but I read this in her journal, and if we're laying all our cards on the table…my daughter has been in love with your son since she was eleven. She met him when he accompanied Lord Archibald home for an Easter holiday. He comforted her after she had been bullied, and he even sent her a present after he left. Apparently the Marquess walks on water, if you read her scribblings. Blair must've amused him."

"Eleven? How old is your daughter now?" Bart asked, confused.

"Nineteen, she'll turn twenty next month."

"He sent her a present? When she was eleven?" Bart was now completely in shock. He couldn't recall his son ever buying a present, not since his mother had passed away. And even then, the presents were always for her. "Charles has never been particularly fond of children, not even when he was a child, himself. I find this rather fascinating."

"Really?" Eleanor asked delightedly. "He didn't even recognize her when he saw again her. She was a bit of a gangly girl when they originally met. But they've become inseparable. Blair even had him dancing attendance on her at Almack's."

Bart grinned. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Eleanor said with all the boastful pride a mother could have. "So the question is, how are we going to arrange this agreement without their knowledge?"

"I have some ideas, but they are making this rather easy for us, are they not?" Bart asked as he offered Eleanor a refill of scotch.

"A bit, too easy." Eleanor nodded her agreement as she held up her glass. "I am going to need you to provide me with some information. I'll be completely honest with you, you are aware of my financial situation—it is dire, but manageable for the next year. Fortunately my masquerading as Madame Thierry has covered all our expenses, but I enjoy the work. In addition to a settlement, I want your _full support_in the ton when I announce that the rumors are true, Madame Thierry and I are one."

"I understand your positioning. I must say I'm quite impressed with your financial acumen. Word has it that your business has shown nothing but success—you've even managed to put away a modest dowry for Blair. I am prepared to settle handsomely. The dowry is yours to keep as well as additional funds. I am willing to set aside a generous amount for Blair that Charles will be unable to touch, providing that she manages to wring a proposal from him."

Eleanor took a deep breath—this was more than she had hoped for. She confessed, "I do not doubt that your son will propose. Blair proved to be rather difficult when they met again. There had been a few hiccups, but I arranged for him to have time with her. He has all but given his word that marriage was imminent, should he enjoy her company. I think it can be safely said that he's more than smitten with her."

"Charles did that? Declared himself without even knowing her well?"

"There does seem to be this connection between the two. Even when they were trying to deny its existence, it was as though they were even more drawn to one another. This will be a true love match, one I believe will be on equal footing."

A rare smile crossed Bart's face, _a love match_, he thought happily. Charles deserved at least that.

"So as you can see, it is not so much the 'if', but rather the 'when' that is our obstacle. Speeding up this courtship would work to my advantage. But before this goes any further, I find myself speculating on this war of silence between you and your son. I couldn't help but notice that when you first arrived in town, he disappeared. I have word that he locked himself in his townhouse in a drunken stupor, all from having caught a glimpse of you at White's. Need I concern myself with what kind of family Blair will be marrying into?"

Bart felt a stab in his heart. Charles had been at White's? How had he not seen him? He did not wish to explain to Eleanor how he had come to town in hopes of mending this eight year old stalemate. It pained him to know that Charles was still more than upset. He owed Eleanor some sort of explanation, he supposed. He had summoned her to discuss an engagement between their children, and she would need all the ammunition necessary to coerce Charles into doing what was best for himself. Before he spoke, he reminded himself, she was going to be family soon. "No, Eleanor, you do not. Whatever is between Charles and myself, will have no bearing on Blair. But I think I have a plan…"

.

.

.

_**tbc**_

* * *

Dedicated to my beta and friend, Noirreigne, who always pushes me to work faster.

To my readers and reviewers who are still along for the ride? I hope you are still entertained and enjoying this. Just an indicator of what is to come…we are at about a third of the way through with the story. Although there may be fewer chapters (or not, I haven't quite decided), they will most likely get longer in length. We have yet to get to the actual drama.

And to dkmm1999, I LOVED 'mad about you' by Belinda Carlisle, but if you haven't checked it out I am much more partial to Hooverphonics' version of the song with the same title. I'm glad you pointed it out, it brought a smile to my face.


	10. ch 9: q&a

It had all started out innocently enough, Blair had just thought to make polite conversation at the rather staid luncheon. Isabel Coates was from the same village that Serena had grown up in, and was perhaps, the shyest and mousiest girl Blair had ever met. It was as though she wanted to blend into the walls, and her success was alarming. If it was possible, Isabel had made an impression on no one and her first season was turning out to be a disaster. Had Serena not run into the teary-eyed Miss Coates hiding in an alcove at the Samuelson Ball last week, it was more than likely that there would be even fewer people at this luncheon.

The men had all gravitated towards one another, and Chuck had not released Blair's hand that had been resting on his arm the entire afternoon. At first she had found it rather humorous, but she could not quite determine what the cause of his behavior was. But as the minutes ticked by, she began to find it rather irksome, as the harder she attempted to abstract her hand, the firmer the pressure he placed. Blair glanced around the room, and watched as Serena charmed their fellow debutantes, and did her best to draw flattering attention towards Isabel. There was almost a sense of longing that crossed over her, and she really wished Chuck would release his grasp on her so she was free to join the other ladies. If she heard one more veiled comment about seeing the horses at Newmarket, she was going to yank her hand from his, scene or not. She cleared her throat and the half-dozen or so men all turned to her eagerly, as though anticipating her departure from them. As her eyes met Chuck's, she read the warning that he did _not_ wish her to move.

With a sigh, she offered, "Have any of you gentlemen had the opportunity to enjoy Kean's _King Lear_?"

She felt the subtle grumble of disappointment, and was really beginning to wonder why Chuck was subjecting her to this. But a few of the men, half-heartedly answered in the affirmative. She breathed out in relief as the group picked up her hint, and continued carrying on the merits of Kean's interpretation of the bard's work. More than once she bit her tongue, as they threw out inaccuracies of the storyline and characters. Blair felt indignation brewing, and was trying to maintain her facade of indifference when Lord Fowles said the most ludicrous of things.

"It is the true definition of a tragedy, as poor Lear is felled by the betrayal of his three daughters. Conniving, the lot of them!" Lord Fowles pontificated.

Blair interrupted, "But ultimately, it's Lear's vanity that is his own downfall. The play opens with him asking his daughters to best each other by exclaiming their love for him. It's clear that it is the appearance of devotion, not the action itself, that Lear was basing the division of his country on."

"Now, now, Miss Waldorf, that is a very childlike manner in which to argue your point," Lord Fowles said condescendingly. "Lear wasn't a spoilt child, which is what you insinuate."

"Perhaps, Miss Waldorf is just not familiar with the play, it takes years to develop a true understanding," Baron Cassiday patronized. "Just because you watched Kean's performance, doesn't mean you've read it."

"Let it be so; thy truth, then by thy dower;

For, by the sacred radiance of the sun,

The mysteries of Hectate, and the night;

By all the operation of the orbs

From whom we do exist, and cease to be;

Here I disclaim all my paternal care,

Propinquity and property of blood,

And as a stranger to my heart and me

Hold thee, from this, for ever.

The barbarous Scythian,

Or he that makes his generation messes

To gorge his appetite, shall to my bosom

Be as well neighbour'd, pitied and relieved,

As thou my sometime daughter."

Blair quoted, with the blandest of smiles. "Shall I continue?"

The sputtering that came from the men caused her to bite back a smile. While she yearned to continue quoting the First Act in its entirety, she hoped her point had been illustrated, that she was just as educated as they were, formal schooling or not.

"Bass, surely you cannot support this insolence? To have this _girl_ lecture us?" Baron Cassiday complained.

Lord Fowles clucked in agreement and shook his head. "When will women learn their _place_ in society?"

"Come not between the dragon and his wrath

I loved her most, and thought to set my rest

On her kind nursery. Hence, and avoid my sight!

So be my grave my peace, as here I give

Her father's heart from her!"

Chuck quoted softly. His eyes turned to steel as he coolly addressed the party, "Miss Waldorf's argument has more than merit. I do believe, gentlemen, you owe her an apology."

The awkward pause stretched, as no man offered any atonement for their behavior. With a polite nod of head, Chuck said, "Excuse us, gentlemen, Miss Waldorf and I must attend to Miss van der Woodsen."

"Chuck," Blair whispered once they were a safe distance away. "I didn't mean to speak out of turn, but when they—"

"Stop!" he commanded firmly.

Her eyes were glued towards the ground, she hoped he wasn't too upset with her. She hadn't meant to behave in such an outspoken, unladylike manner, but it had been infuriating to be lectured by men who were obviously less intelligent than she. She shifted uncomfortably while she waited for Chuck to speak.

"You have nothing to apologize for, Blair. They're ignorant. And it is I who should apologize, I didn't want to be left alone with them, and now you've had to deal with their unpleasantness," Chuck said earnestly.

A smile crossed her face as she gazed into his eyes. "So you kept me by your side so you didn't have to converse with them?"

"Three of those men hound me incessantly, always wanting to discuss horses and gambling. I have no interest in speaking with them about such things, but they persist, nonetheless," he revealed.

"But you defended me," Blair said softly. "Said my argument had merit."

"Why wouldn't I?" Chuck asked. "You are one of the most intelligent people I have ever met."

The happiness from his words radiated off of her face. "I may have to reward you for that comment."

As they resumed their walk towards Serena, Chuck lifted Blair's hand to his lips and pressed a kiss. "Your company is reward enough."

.

.

.

Blair gazed over at Serena and Georgina with a frown on her face. For the past hour, she had carefully bided her time and waited for the pair to stop their incessant whispering and giggling. She was still mad at Serena. It had been almost a month since she had run into Viscount Hadley near dawn, and Serena had avoided her and her inquiries steadily since. The few times Blair had managed to get her alone, her blonde-haired friend would evade her questions and change topics with a level of stealth she never expected. It was unfortunate that Serena thought she was going to be judgmental and chastise her, when all really she wanted was to obtain information.

Regardless of how many books she had read, there were still many aspects of sex Blair had questions about. Even in the most graphic of texts, there seemed to be some pertinent link missing that she couldn't quite grasp. Coupled with the snippets she had overheard over the years, she was confounded. Blair struggled to reconcile the extremes—the aspect of pain and duty versus the temptations of the flesh. If the pleasure she received from Chuck's kisses and caresses were any indicator of what was to come, she couldn't imagine any type of pain that wouldn't be worth it. Even now, she flushed just imagining where his hands and mouth had been, how she wished to provoke the same loss of control from him.

Last week, Chuck had begrudgingly intimated that she did indeed cause similar reactions from him. But in an unexpected move on his part, he started limiting their physical exploration almost immediately after he confessed his partiality towards her. He had just begun to unlace her dress, when she all but offered herself to him, causing him to abruptly pull away. Blair had nearly stamped her foot in frustration and just managed to stop herself from begging him to continue teaching her everything he knew. Despite this reaction, he had not stopped dancing attendance on her or been any less attentive. How was she supposed to find out if she had done anything wrong?

Even thinking about him on a physical level caused her fingers to twitch, absolutely fraught with need to run her fingers over his chest, to tangle her fingers in his thick lock of curls and press kisses on every available surface of his skin. Her fascination with his flesh was embarrassing. Blair could not understand why she constantly needed that skin to skin contact. She felt herself flush, her imagination and tactile senses igniting her need. If she didn't start focusing on her agenda, she was going to end up in the corner, mooning over the idea at the mere thought of touching him. And she would still have no answers.

Blair once again looked over at Serena and Georgina. With renewed conviction, she marched up to her two closest friends and wedged herself between them. Flashing a pointed smile and using an overly saccharine voice she turned to Serena. "I believe your mother has been asking for you, you should go find her."

She tried to shoo her away, gesticulating towards the large room.

Georgina smothered a laugh and wisely chose to say nothing.

Serena stared back at her with a look of confusion. "I don't see my mother anywhere."

"Then go look for her," she suggested snidely. "Besides, Georgie and I have things to discuss."

"Like what?" Serena asked.

"We do?" Georgina echoed.

"Yes," Blair hissed. "Now run along S, you aren't the only person who can answer my questions."

"Questions?" The two women chorused as they exchanged curious glances.

"What could you possibly need to ask G or I?" Serena asked in fascination.

"Please leave, Serena, I need a moment alone with _my_ friend," Blair insisted.

Georgie looked at the two friends in amusement. With a gentle smile, she offered a compromise. "Why don't you just whisper the nature of your question into my ear, and we'll see if it commands a private audience?"

Blair shot a hateful look at Serena before leaning over and whispering into Georgie's ear, "I need you to tell me everything you know about _sex_."

Georgie's eyes grew to the size of large saucers, causing Blair to blush furiously. Had she miscalculated in thinking that her surrogate sister would be willing to tell her the truth? Before Blair could apologize or even rescind her question, a catlike grin spread across Lady Sparks face.

"My, my, my, is our little Blair being tempted to travel down the path of forbidden pleasures?" Georgie teased, sotto voce.

"No!" Serena gasped loudly.

Several people turned to look at the trio, and if possible, Blair turned an even deeper shade of red. While she buried her face in her hands, both Georgina and Serena burst into unbridled laughter.

Tears of frustration welled in Blair's eyes and she blinked them away as quickly as possible. She had never felt so silly or _stupid _in her entire life. This was the one time where knowledge was no substitute for experience, and yet the only two women she dared to voice her thoughts to, were poking fun at her. It appeared that she had vastly miscalculated, and short of asking him directly, she would never know what she had done to halt Chuck's advances.

"B," Serena whispered softly, once the laughter had subsided. The humor slowly transformed into worry.

Concern filled Georgie's face, as well. "Blair, don't get upset."

Her chin trembled. "You're making fun of me! You two are the only ones I thought I could ask these questions to, without your judging me. But instead of helping me you're laughing at me."

"You're serious," Serena said in wonder. "Is _this_ what you've been trying to ask me this whole time? About Viscount Hadley?"

Blair nodded. She was afraid if she spoke, the tears would flood and she would make a spectacle of herself.

"Has the Marquess been pressuring you?" Georgina asked. Suddenly, steel laced her voice as she continued to question her. "Has he hurt you or touched you somewhere he shouldn't? Does he persist in his advances when you tell him to stop?"

Georgina's normally warm eyes had turned an icy blue and Blair could feel her rage bubbling beneath the surface. Quickly she reassured her friend by shaking her head in defense. "No! That's not it at all. I promise you, he would never hurt me."

The two older girls stared at her in confusion. With a quick breath of frustration, she said, "I'm making such a mess of this. How shall I put it?"

Blair paused to take a quick glance around the room to confirm that no one was paying their trio any mind. "It's quite the opposite, actually—he's just _stopped_."

"Stopped?" Georgie repeated.

"Stopped the progression," Blair said uncomfortably. "Now we're in regression. Before, we used to sneak off, there were stolen kisses, touches…but now, he barely kisses me anymore and refuses to find hidden spots for further exploration."

"B, the Marquess absolutely dotes on you! Surely you're not questioning his interest?" Serena demanded.

She shrugged, not wanting to confirm that those were in fact, her very fears.

"I hate to be vulgar, Blair, but you must have felt _it_, haven't you?" Georgie asked in a hushed tone.

Biting her lip as she faced downwards, her cheeks again flushed red, Blair nodded.

Serena pressed on. "_During_ your encounters?"

Once again, her head shook in the affirmative. She answered truthfully, "I cannot recall a time recently when I _haven't_ felt it."

When she heard the duo of sighs of relief, she looked up to find matching smiles worn on both Serena and Georgina's faces.

"If it's any consolation, I had to practically attack Nate myself, before he gave in," Serena admitted. "But just the other day, Nate told me how fascinated he was by Chuck's behavior towards you. You have to be aware that the Marquess is _not_ known for curbing his impulses, he's a veritable libertine. Combine that with the fact that he never dallies with debutantes—if he's not advancing your physical relationship, it's a sure sign that he's serious about you."

"I think you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I think it's so romantic, how utterly gentlemanly Chuck Bass is behaving. I do think he intends to wed you!" Georgina said happily. A sly smile suddenly appeared on her face as she clucked, "Poor Chuck! My dear, do you have _any_ idea what you're putting him through?"

Blair shook her head.

"I think it's safe to say that you've kept him in a suspended state of arousal for the past month, if not longer," Serena explained. "Come to think of it, no one has mentioned any women gracing the Marquess' bed. Poor Chuck, indeed!"

"Who would have thought that he could be so sweet?" Georgie wondered aloud.

"But why is it sweet of him? And how bad is it if I've unknowingly put him in that state?" Blair interrupted. Although she felt the beginnings of relief take over, it wasn't enough. "What does that even mean? I want to know everything!"

"You are enjoying these interludes, aren't you?" Georgie asked.

"It's heavenly, like nothing I've ever felt before," Blair confessed. "Despite the fact that I feel like a complete wanton, I cannot help but wish it would never end!"

The two older girls exchanged satisfied looks.

"Well, I'll just have to invite you to tea along with Miss van der Woodsen, later this week. In the privacy of my salon, we will answer any and every question we can. And perhaps, we can offer some techniques that may aide in your quest for knowledge," Georgina said with a sly wink.

"I, for one, would be delighted to be able to tutor _you_ in a subject, for a change," Serena concurred warmly.

"You two aren't funning me, are you?" Blair asked nervously.

"Absolutely not," Georgie said firmly.

"I wish to be for you, what I wished I had for me," Serena promised.

With a smile of relief, Blair hugged them gratefully. She was convinced that whatever she learned would be illuminating, and perhaps the most informative lessons she received to date.

.

.

.

_One afternoon Chuck had called on her at the van der Woodsen townhouse. They had been sitting amicably on the settee, reading in companionable silence. Blair was so immersed in the latest volume of poetry Chuck had gifted her with, that she hadn't noticed how his hand would play with the ends of her hair, or that he had long given up the pretense of reading and openly stared at her. Without warning Chuck stood up, his book falling to the ground. _

_The loud thud startled her._

"_It's unnatural!" Chuck exclaimed as he paced back and forth across the sitting room._

"_What is?" Blair asked as she looked up at him in slight confusion._

"_This!" He gesticulated at the empty space separating the two of them._

_Blair paused for a moment. With her expression blank—guarded almost, she carefully asked, "I'm not sure I'm following…?"  
_

"_This need I'm constantly flooded by," he grated out. "To want to be with you, every hour of every day."_

"_That's not unnatural," Blair said softly, unable to stop her smile from widening. She waited a beat before she teased him, "Do you like me?"_

"_Define like," he bit out with resignation._

"_Chuck Bass is a romantic, who knew?" She continued playfully._

_The tension left him and a lazy smile crossed his face as he looked over at her. Retaking his position next to her on the couch, he reached out and wrapped a single curl around his finger, using it to draw her closer. He whispered in her ear, "Now you do, that's all that matters."_

_Slowly, he rained the lightest of kisses all across her face in quiet relief that she had neither mocked him nor used his words as a weapon to be wielded later. Her eyes beckoned him closer, but it was her lips and mouth that held him completely captive._

_She shifted so that she was almost spread across him, and Chuck could not resist trailing kisses down her throat as his tongue laved the flesh of her modest neckline. Blair's soft moans of pleasure were music to his ears and all he wanted to do was make her sing. His hands began to untie the laces of her dress so he could bare her breasts. _

"_More," she whispered as he lifted his mouth from her skin. "There's more, and you're not showing me. I want you to teach me _everything_. I'm yours."_

_The thrill of hearing those words 'I'm yours,' fall from her lips, stilled all movement. Blair had said those words in the moment, but looking up and seeing the desire in her eyes—he knew she meant both syllables. Despite his utmost desire to pin her against the wall and make her his in every sense of the word—he found himself pulling away. Chuck wanted to savor each moment—wanted all the time in the world when he at last entered her. And, he wanted to make it special for her._

_He pressed a light, but lingering kiss on her lips before drawing back and tightening the laces that he had just untied. Chuck ignored the guilt he felt when he saw the flash of hurt in Blair's eyes, but he was only a man. If he were to cave to her demands now—there was no way her virtue would be kept in tact._

_With a wry smile, he gently said in explanation, "We've been left alone for over an hour. Perhaps now would not be the most ideal time to start a lesson."_

_Blair's adorable little pout had him wavering for a moment, before he reminded himself just how much she mattered. She couldn't begin to understand how important she was to him. _

"_We'll have to reschedule," Blair said unhappily. But then she fluttered her eyes and peered at him through her thick, dark lashes. "Well…only if _you_ want to."_

"_Nothing could stop me," he confessed._

_A siren-like smile appeared on her face and she shifted in his lap again, causing him to stifle a groan from the way her hip brushed against him. Blair wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly. They were both breathless when she pulled away. _

"_I'm going to hold you to that," she murmured throatily, as her lips still hovered above his._

_Before he could answer, the front doorbell sounded and Blair hopped off of his lap. By the time the sitting room doors were opened, they were at opposite ends of the room._

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"Am I allowed to ask you a string of rather strange questions?"

"Strange, how?"

"Strange, as in personal in nature, as it pertains to your betrothed," Chuck clarified.

A look of wariness crossed Nate's face.

"No specific details, _per se_…"

"Just ask it, and I will deem if it is too inappropriate," Nate said brusquely.

With a sigh, Chuck stared straight ahead. He really didn't want to ask Nate for advice, but he recognized there was nowhere else to turn to. "Who initiated the more intimate nature of your relationship?"

Nate reddened but said nothing.

"Was it you who forced the issue? Or did Miss van der Woodsen?"

"That's none of your business!" Nate barked.

"Because I'm having a devil of a time resisting Blair," Chuck said blankly, ignoring his friend's response. "In fact, if she had it her way, I would have bedded her by now."

Nate shot him a look of sympathy.

"So it _was_ Miss van der Woodsen, then?" He pressed, desperate for confirmation that he was not the only one in this predicament. "She's the reason you're sneaking out of their townhouse in the wee hours of the morning? I think Blair would like nothing more than for me to do the same."

"Seriously?"

Chuck nodded.

"It was all Serena," Nate admitted. "She was the one who stole a kiss from _me_ the first time, before she left for Paris. She said she wanted to have something to remember me by. And you know she wasn't a complete innocent—not like your Miss Waldorf. She knew exactly what to do, how to draw me deeper into the kiss, and she pulled away, right when I wanted more."

"So she's a skilled seductress," he observed. Raising his glass in the Viscount's direction, he smiled. "Congratulations."

"I've never told anyone this, but I never knew a kiss could be so intimate," Nate confessed. "Kissing her was almost more exciting than the act of sex itself. That's why I refused to accompany you on your travels, truthfully. No matter what other woman graced my bed, it was Serena I pictured and her I wanted beneath me. It took me less than a month to head over to Paris. I thought I would steal another kiss, tell myself that I had imagined it all. But she was ready for me, and before I knew it, she had captured my heart. It took her two weeks to wear me down, and well…the rest is history."

"I've managed to go this long without giving in, even reining in the need to show her other ways I can provide her pleasure without…" Chuck trailed off.

"And you're turning her down?" Nate asked in confusion. "Isn't that what you're after—to bind her to you, so you won't have to win her hand? It's pretty obvious to everyone who looks at you two, that she's completely taken with you. Although, don't think that you look any less smitten."

Chuck ignored the truth of his friend's words. He knew how precarious the situation was, _without_ including how curious Blair was about sex. He hadn't even begun to encompass all the social cues he was throwing out to the ton—he knew they were waiting to see when he'd tire of her, before resuming life as the _passionate corpse_. There was a sense of relief that he had an understanding with Eleanor. Even though he knew with absolute certainty that he would never tire of being around Blair, he wasn't ready to come face to face with what the ramifications of that decision meant.

He hesitated, staring at the glass of scotch in his hands that he had yet to take a sip of. There was just a hint of embarrassment at the question he was about to ask Nate. All of this behavior was so _unlike_ him—this uncertainty stemmed from the emotions Blair managed to provoke. "Do you have any suggestions on how I might discourage her?"

Nate snorted before his shoulders shook with laughter. Chuck scowled as his friend was near howling in amusement. "Archibald, this is not even close to being funny."

"_You_ trying to fend off the attentions of Miss Waldorf, someone you're obsessed with—you're right, not funny. It's hysterical!"

A knock on the door, had both gentlemen turning their head. Arthur opened the door, with a letter resting on a silver tray.

Chuck took the parchment and nodded, his butler quietly left the room. His brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully read the note, feeling Nate's curious eyes on him. A flicker of excitement rushed into Chuck's veins, it appeared the business venture he was considering might pan out, after all. This would be just the thing he could use to put a bit of distance between him and Blair.

"Who is it from?"

"An investment opportunity I don't think I can resist," Chuck explained. "It is exactly the kind of innovative thinking that my empire can be built on. It's the perfect thing, I've been waiting for this."

"_Your_ empire, huh?" Nate teased.

Chuck flashed a knowing smile. It was the unspoken words that mattered the most, though, it was at the root of everything that defined him. This was perfect because was he to succeed, he'd be able to escape from his father's shadow. He could thumb his nose at propriety and all the titles that were supposed to be bestowed upon him. It would let him be his own man first—heir to the Rowley Dukedom, second.

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_**tbc**_

* * *

SORRY! I know I've totally been MIA, but there was a whole other story that was tormenting me that I needed to get out first. And if you didn't know, I did write a rather obnoxiously long historical oneshot, You Amaze Me. I hope this chapter wasn't too lackluster as a comeback. I'm going to try to get back to updating regularly, but it will most likely be a couple of weeks in between updates. This is my baby, and I get a more than a little bit obsessive to get everything just right—much moreso than I do with my other fics.

For all my readers, thank you in advance for continuing to read and follow, you guys are awesome!

A huge thank you to Uncorazonquebrado for beta-ing this chapter, I don't even have words for how much I appreciated it.

This chapter is dedicated to Ilu (as I promised to post this chapter in honor of your return—which has now been well over a week, see how I post things especially just for you?) and Ollie (because sometimes updating a fic is more about you than it is about me) who have been harassing me non-stop to post this chapter.


	11. ch 10: a fight before departure

"And so then, Penelope had the audacity to tell Lord Dudley that in no way would she ever be interested in becoming the future Lady Dudley. I mean, even if Lord Dudley walks with an odd gait, can barely enunciate his words and will not stop talking about cattle, he is still the third largest landowner in Northern England! I don't know how the Earl and Countess permit her to behave in such a fashion! Lord Dudley hadn't even _asked_ nor _suggested_ he was even remotely interested in her! He just asked her to dance! Not even a waltz!" Blair huffed indignantly.

"Are you sure this is just about _poor_ Lord Dudley?" Chuck asked as he attempted to hide his amusement. Blair had been ranting about this subject for the past quarter of the hour. In fact, she had barely paused long enough to take a breath. It was entirely too irresistible for him not to needle her a little bit. "It has _nothing_ to do with the fact that you are not fond of Lady Penelope?"

"Can I help it that her actions merely strengthen my argument that she is intolerable? Be it as it may that Lord Dudley is welcomed to events due to his title and wealth, she needn't be so rude—it was plain disrespectful. Her manners are those of a commoner!"

The carriage came to a halt, temporarily pausing their conversation—well, more like Blair's monologue. Chuck stepped out carefully to avoid one of the many puddles that littered the street. He reached out and made sure that Blair did not step into the muddy water. She was firmly on the ground and out of harm's way, and opened her mouth to continue with her diatribe, when the sound of her name pierced through the air.

"Over here! Blair!" Serena called out excitedly from near the entrance doors to the theatre.

"Serena!" Blair waved back with equal enthusiasm.

Chuck stared across the street at Nate. They were both befuddled how their girls could live in the same house, spend nearly all their time together—save for when they were in their company—and still greet each other with such animation, as though they had not seen each other for days. He was willing to admit however, that Lady Penelope's actions from the previous evening, was still the talk of the town. Chuck honestly couldn't care less about what she had done, nor to whom—he had been put off by her as a child and she hadn't seemed to have changed one bit. But he loved watching Blair's face make an array of different expressions, especially the adorable manner in which her nose would wrinkle in disdain, as she carried on.

He turned to offer her his arm, but three other debutantes swarmed Serena, and Blair was eager to join the group. In her fervor to continue discussion of the latest scandal, she neglected to watch where she was going and was about to step into an even larger puddle than the one they had just avoided. Reacting instinctively, Chuck stepped towards her and scooped her up in his arms. Blair squealed in surprise, as she unknowingly missed ruining her shoes and dress by a fraction of a second. He strode quickly and made his way to where Serena and her friends stood, before placing her gently down.

"Chuck!" Blair gasped. He couldn't understand the shocked look on her face. "What were you thinking?"

He stared at her oddly, before stating the obvious. "You were one foot away from stepping into that puddle. I was merely making sure you crossed the street without irreparable damage to your shoes and dress."

It was the squealing of her three other friends and the delighted smile on Blair's face that made Chuck cringe internally at his words.

"Nate, why don't _you_ ever carry me across the street to avoid puddles?" Serena whined. "How is it that the Marquess is the most romantic man in all of London?"

Chuck struggled to keep his face impassive, as he took a quick glance around to see how many people had witnessed his gesture. He groaned silently when he realized that instead of filing into the theater, the crowded street was mostly silent with all eyes on their group.

"You'll have to ask Chuck," Nate smirked. "Perhaps I should take lessons from him?"

Serena rolled her eyes at Nate before turning to Blair to join their friends in cooing over how _sweet_ the Marquess' behavior was. There was tittering about, and Chuck gave Nate a pointed look as they shepherded the five females inside. He remained stoic and motionless as Nate continued to rib him while they patiently waited for Blair and Serena to finish gossiping with their friends so they could adjourn to their box.

Finally the girls turned towards them, and Chuck held Blair back so they could follow after. In truth, he was a bit embarrassed that he had been so outwardly demonstrative in his concern for her. It was certain to bring about even more talk in the ton about what his intentions towards her might be—especially as it may have just crossed the line of propriety. And since he wasn't quite prepared to make things official just yet, and they had never broached the subject, perhaps now would be the best time for him to make sure they were on the same page. There were certain expectations that Blair should have about where all of this was leading to.

They stopped outside of the box that Nate and Serena had disappeared into. The hallways were empty, as they were one of the last to reach their seats. Before she could pull the curtain and step in, Chuck gently tugged on her arm. When she turned towards him, he diverted his eyes and stared straight ahead. Hesitantly he began, "About what happened outside—"

"Thank you," she interrupted softly.

He turned to face her. The smile on her face was so tender and loving, that his heart caught in his throat. Chuck reached a hand out and cupped her face, gently running his thumb across her lips. Reverently he said, "Anything, for you."

She beamed as her eyes fluttered shut.

He took a deep breath. "Blair, I think you should know—"

"Chuck! Blair! The opera is going to start soon!" Serena said as she poked her head from behind the curtain. Her eyes widened slightly as she realized that she had interrupted a private moment. She flashed an apologetic smile before disappearing back into the box.

"I should know what?" Blair gently prodded.

_That you're perfect_, he thought silently. With a look of chagrin, he teased, "That if we don't go inside, we'll miss the beginning of _The Magic Flute_."

She stared at him intently for a moment and then smiled ruefully. "I suppose since I badgered you to procure the tickets, the least we could do is watch."

He took her hand and pressed a kiss in her palm before reaching over and pulling the curtain aside for her to step through. When they took their seats, he could feel a hundred pair of eyes boring into the side of his face. It was as if the rest of the patrons were there to watch _them_ instead of the opera. There was a collective hush, and the building got so quiet, the dropping of a pin could be heard.

Desperate to ease the tension as he noticed how stiffly Blair sat, Chuck leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Are they expecting us to sing? I must admit, I'm severely out of practice. I'm certain that I'll sing horribly off key."

Blair clamped her hands over her mouth as her shoulders shook with laughter.

"You don't think they'll ask _me_ to pay them for having to sit through the torture of listening to me, do you? You'd think they'd consider it an honor, the Marquess of Stanhope does not perform for just anyone, I'll have you know," he continued to say straight-faced.

Finally, she could not contain herself any longer, and the lone sound that could be heard was the tinkling of Blair's laughter. He smiled at her reaction and a moment later, he joined in, his eyes twinkling. Chuck was so caught up in Blair, that he didn't hear the cooing of the other women in attendance as the men grumbled. Serena turned and looked at her friend in curiosity.

Nate angled his chair over so he could murmur into Chuck's ear, "You are aware that every woman here has fallen in love with you, just now, aren't you?"

He dragged his eyes away from Blair to stare crossly at his friend. "Why?"

"Let's see," Nate posed the question. He held out his hand as he ticked off his list, one by one. "You broke I don't know how many rules of social etiquette by carrying Miss Waldorf across the street just so she could avoid a puddle. You are making her laugh by whispering into her ear. You stare at her as if she's the _only_ woman in the world. Oh, and did you know you're the heir to a dukedom and rich as Croesus?"

"Archibald, you're exaggerating," Chuck said dismissively. But from the corner of his eye, he could see a myriad of women staring up at him dreamily.

As Blair was informing Serena of the words Chuck had said that caused her laughter, Nate took the opportunity to turn back towards him. "The piece de resistance, however, is the fact that two of your former paramours are the female leads for tonight's performance."

"Which two?" Chuck hissed as he smiled blandly. A tremor of irritation passed through him, he did not wish for Blair to be subjected to a moment of discomfort. Why was he just hearing about this _now_?

"Valentina and the ever elusive Maria Bennardo," Nate said back evenly.

"They are of no consequence to me," Chuck said in annoyance. "Valentina was no trouble when we parted, and I don't recall spending more than one night with Maria. You know I'm not one for attachments, Nathaniel. Isn't my lack of awareness that either were in town a clear indication of how little I care?"

"Well, I believe your behavior tonight is confirming that the ton's most eligible bachelor is indeed off the market. And it appears that your transformation into a Byronic hero can be placed squarely at Miss Waldorf's feet. You have all but publicly pledged yourself to her, Chuck, in fact, if you _don't _ask for her hand, that will be more of a shock. From this point forward, I'd proceed with caution," Nate advised.

Chuck was surprised that his friend's words didn't cause him to panic—especially since moments ago, he had admitted to himself how he was not ready to commit himself formally. In truth, he felt relief at the thought that the ton would consider them unofficially betrothed. His silence was damning.

"Wow," Nate whistled.

"What?"

"This really _is_ happening."

"What's happening?" Chuck scowled.

"You're going to marry her," Nate said in awe.

He looked back over to Blair and Serena, to make sure they hadn't heard Nate's pronouncement. Their heads were together, as they were still talking with animation. Suddenly the lights dimmed, and everyone settled back into their seats, all eyes on the stage.

Chuck said nothing further, but instead his hand found its way to Blair's.

The absence of denial was the final confirmation for Nate.

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For the next two days, Chuck's swoonworthy gesture of carrying Blair across the street was still the juiciest piece of gossip—surpassing even Lady Penelope's questionable behavior. Everywhere they went, Chuck and Blair were being closely scrutinized as whispers ran amuck, leaving everyone wondering what could possibly be the delay in announcing an engagement.

Secretly, Blair loved being the center of attention, that it was _her_ name on everyone lips. And so, she managed to breeze serenely through it all, although, deep down inside, she too, wondered the very same thing. The sweetness of his gesture had not been lost on her, but more importantly, the naturalness of it. It seemed that she was ingraining herself into his subconscious and becoming part of his natural landscape—the way he had been a part of hers since they met. The past month had flown by like a magical dream—Chuck was everything she had dreamt him to be, and then some. Except for halting their physical exploration, Blair couldn't ask for anything more perfect. That was the true reason why she had yet to broach the subject with Chuck, she was afraid that mentioning the possibility of a future would upset the scales. On top of which, her mother had been frighteningly silent on the matter, never once asking her what his intentions were.

While Chuck might not have been thrilled that he had become a rather romantic figure, he did nothing but help fan the flames. Not only had he become even more attentive towards her, if that was even possible, he also never once disputed or denied that an engagement was eminent. Instead, his response of choice was either a raised brow or shrug of his shoulders, always accompanied with his infuriating smirk. Blair refused to let hope over-blossom, at least not until he gave her some sort of verbal confirmation.

It was on that second evening he informed her during their drive home from the Phillips' ball that there was a business opportunity he was looking into, and he would be unavailable to call on her or escort her over the next few days. He looked as unhappy as she felt about their separation. Ever since that fateful evening when they had first kissed, they had seen each other nearly every day.

"I will miss seeing you," she admitted as she rested her head against the cushioned seat and turned to face him.

"Not more than I will you," he confessed as he mirrored her movement.

They each inched towards the center of carriage, their foreheads resting against one another. Chuck leaned down and nuzzled his nose against hers, causing a tingle to run up her spine at the innocent gesture. Blair angled her face up, touching her lips to his. Gently he kissed her, his arm wrapping around her body, and drawing her closer to him. He applied more pressure as her lips parted, his tongue grazed hers.

As he teased her mouth, she was reveling in the physical sensation—it had been nearly a week since they had been this close. Not wanting to let this opportunity slip away, she boldly straddled his lap, the insides of her thighs resting against the outside of his. He temporarily froze and Blair took advantage of his immobility to slide her hands up his chest and began untying his cravat, pressing kisses at the hollow of his throat.

When her tongue darted out and greedily lapped at his skin, it sprung Chuck into action, and he dragged her mouth back to his. He kissed her hungrily, tugging her dress down, and freeing her breasts to brush against his bare chest. As her nipples were teased by the hairs on his chest, she instinctively writhed in his lap, her mound pressed firmly against his hardness. Chuck growled loudly as he sunk his hands into her hips, as she bucked against him, unable to control the waves of pleasure that flooded her body. He kissed her roughly, while her nails dug deep into his back and he thrust his hips against hers in perfect rhythm.

Blair's head fell back as she moaned even louder. Each touch and movement overwhelmed her, but she couldn't stop herself from grinding against him. Chuck began placing wet kisses across her breasts, before he brought a nipple between his teeth and bit down lightly. He continued to suckle, his tongue flicking out and massaging the tip. When he switched to lave her other breast, she clutched his head against her. She clung to him harder and harder as her hips undulated faster and faster, until finally she shattered against him, his name on her lips.

Breathless, she buried her face into the crook of his neck. He stroked her hair gently as she slowly came out of her haze, her body still humming.

"That was amazing," she said against his neck.

"If you thought that was amazing, you have no idea what you're in for," he said smugly.

Smiling, she arched sinuously against him, causing him to hiss in pain. Blair's eyes flew open as she looked up to see Chuck's jaw clenched, eyes tightly closed and his head tilted back against the wall of the carriage.

"Chuck?" she asked.

"Stop moving," he begged hoarsely. "Please."

He opened his eyes and saw confusion in hers. She didn't understand that he had yet to find his release and that he had no plans to do so. His self-control was hanging on by a thread, and when the carriage jostled over a particularly difficult stretch of road, it caused Blair to shift against him. Her eyes widened when she realized exactly how hard he still was.

"Is there something—."

"_**No**_," he interrupted. "This was for you."

"But, I want to—."

Chuck cut her off with a kiss, wincing as she rolled her hips. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself inside of her, but it wasn't going to happen like this.

He slowly pulled away and eased Blair off of his lap. She stretched languidly like a cat as he carefully pulled her dress back over her breasts. She rested her head against his shoulder as her hand drew absent patterns on his chest.

After a few moments of silence, each regaining their footing, his minx asked, "So, when can we do this again?"

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"Miss Waldorf, you have a visitor," Vanya informed her as she stepped into the house. Blair looked up at Vanya with a raised eyebrow, as she unbuttoned her pelisse and handed it to Dorota. "A visitor? At this time of day?"

"Lord Bass has been waiting in the sitting room for the better part of the hour. Your mother and Lady van der Woodsen left a few minutes ago, yet he insisted on waiting for you. I've been given strict instructions to leave the door slightly ajar, and Dorota will be standing just outside. Lady Waldorf specified that you were to have half an hour," Vanya unveiled uncomfortably in a low tone.

Blair hid a smile of amusement that her mother had fought the battle for her, but even moreso, she was elated that Chuck was there. Even though he had flowers delivered to her the past three mornings as an apology for being kept away, she was desperate to see him. The gossip floating around town about Chuck's whereabouts had been unsettling, and seeing him would reassure her. Blair kindly patted the butler on the arm and said, "Vanya, I promise you nothing untoward shall occur. Please tell Dorota to sit outside when she is finished hanging my pelisse in my room. And will you let her know that we are to _run errands_ again tomorrow?"

"Yes, Miss Waldorf." Vanya bowed and went upstairs in search of Dorota. As soon as he turned the corner, Blair's polite smile turned into one of chagrin. Vanya would be mortified if he knew that "run errands" was Blair's code for Dorota to be as unavailable as possible for whatever was being requested. Dorota would require triple or more the standard bribe for this, she mused—new gloves, some ribbons, gingerbread and perhaps even some tarts! A small price to pay, Blair decided, a naughty smile playing on her lips as she strode towards the sitting room.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect, especially since she had just come from Georgina's. The unexpected adventure during the carriage ride the other night, had fueled Blair's impatience to learn what she didn't know from Serena and Georgina. After Chuck had dropped her off, she had proceeded directly to Serena's room. It had only taken one look for Serena to advise that she wear a higher neckline the following day. Blair had looked down to see faint hints of a purplish hue on her chest and flushed a deep red. Serena hadn't bothered to hide her amusement as she said, "It appears that our tutoring session needs to happen sooner than later."

It had taken a couple of days, but she had spent the entire morning in Serena and Georgie's presence. After admitting the details of what had happened in the carriage the other night, the two aided in Blair's quest to receive instructions on how _she_ could please Chuck in a similar fashion. Her jaw dropped in shock as Georgie had pulled out a sketch pad to pen a visual diagram, and it continued to remain agape when G pointed out where she should place her hands. Serena had chosen that moment to jump in by describing how best to use her mouth if her intent was for Chuck to fully enjoy her gift.

They had both laughed gently as her eyes had nearly popped out of her head when Georgie produced a cucumber so that Blair might have a visual reference. She and Serena took turns demonstrating preferred hand grips and techniques. Despite the fact that she had been stunned into silence, she had listened intently to every word, visually catalogued every tip and gesture. She could not deny the heady anticipation at the mere thought of performing such an unspeakable act. After all, their carriage experience had only further confirmed that it was not a question of _if_, but rather _when_ she would finally surrender her virtue to him.

It was the sound of a door almost closing that alerted Chuck to her presence.

"Lord Bass," Blair said demurely.

"Miss Waldorf," Chuck countered as he bowed in answer to her respectful curtsey. His eyes were drawn to the particularly high neckline of her dress. He hid his amusement at the marks he must have left as he placed the modest of kisses on her hand. There was so much he needed to say to her that he could not allow for any distractions, especially since he wasn't sure how upset she was going to be. He was leaving London that very evening.

With a shy smile, she fluttered her eyes at him innocently.

"Vanya said my mother left instructions that we be left alone for no more than thirty minutes." She bit her lip nervously, drawing his attention to her luscious mouth. "I'm sure there's _something_ we can find to occupy our time..."

Chuck wanted nothing more than to pull her onto his lap and kiss her until they were both breathless. There would be no better goodbye present than accepting what she was offering. But thirty minutes wouldn't even begin to scratch the surface of how much time he would require if he were to give into her. And the other night had proved how easily he could succumb to her, without even the slightest provocation. He regrettably brought a finger to her lips to stop her from finishing that thought. He gave her a look of admiration before leading her to take a seat. She blushed and sat with her eyes downward.

"Blair..." Chuck started with an air of hesitancy, before closing his mouth. Now it was _he _who was suddenly the shy one. Uncomfortably he jumped off the chaise as he ran a hand through his hair. He took a deep breath, and opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it shut rather quickly. He repeated the series of actions several times, before he began pacing the length of the room in an attempt to calm himself down. He couldn't pinpoint _why_ he was behaving in such an erratic fashion—after all, he had just come here to apprise her in person of his departure, there was no need to feel so nervous. But if he were being honest with himself, he knew that that was not the cause, or at least not the _causes_ that gave him pause. As soon as the Stevenson brothers had agreed that he would be their main investor, Chuck had wondered what opinion Blair would have to offer. It was rather unorthodox that he cared what her opinions were, but he trusted her—and her ability to observe nuances were invaluable. Yet there was a sense of lingering doubt…confiding his ideas and dreams of grandeur—would she laugh at him?

He turned back towards her, to find her staring up at him. All traces of playfulness had been removed from her face and replaced with a look of fear. The longer he remained silent, the more he felt her discomfort grow.

"Chuck, please…you're scaring me."

"Blair—I...I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm leaving London for Plymouth tonight, as soon as I leave here, actually. I fear I'll be gone at least a fortnight," Chuck finally rushed out, having figured out no way to avoid the inevitable. He was greeted with complete silence. After a pause that felt like hours, she finally spoke.

"And why are informing me of this?" Blair asked flippantly as her back stiffened.

Chuck's eyes narrowed as he heard the distance and indifference in her voice—had he miscalculated? And as always, whenever he felt vulnerable and exposed, his veneer of cruelty reared its ugly head. With a dark laugh, he sneered, "I'd hate for you to find out at the Carrington's ball tonight that I had left town, with nary a word. I thought it would be the gentlemanly thing to do, to speak to you in person, but it appears that I'm mistaken…do you only enjoy my company when I'm behaving in an _ungentlemanly_ fashion?"

"Shouldn't _I_ be asking you if your only interest is seeing how far I'm willing to go to surrender my virtue, without you promising me anything?" She callously ground out in response.

Chuck jerked back as though he had been slapped. It unnerved him just how quickly things seemed to have spiraled out of control, he had come here to plead that she not be disappointed with his ill-timed departure and hoping he could confide in her. But instead, there she sat across the room like an ice queen, glaring dismissively at him.

He stalked across the room and grabbed her by the arms. Angrily he hissed, "When have I _ever_ treated you with anything other than respect? Have I not treated you as an equal where other men would have had you bite your tongue? Now you're accusing me of toying with you on a physical level? I have demonstrated with actions, in every possible way, how special you are to me—and yet you question the sanctity of my motives? Despite the fact that I have relished every single whimper, purr and moan I've evoked from you, I've had to restrain myself from claiming you—constantly reminding myself that you deserve more than a quick tumble."

He continued to glare at her until he saw the tears start to well in her eyes, and couldn't stop his heart from clenching. He released his grip on her and stepped back. In a confused voice, he asked painfully, "Why are you behaving this way? I'm leaving for two weeks, and this is how you wish us to part?"

"Two weeks?" Blair said spitefully, as she refused to meet his eyes. "Is that your creative way of ending things with me? You're not even going to extend me the courtesy of the truth—that you don't desire me anymore? That you prefer to have someone far more experienced at pleasuring you than me?"

With a sudden realization about the root of her behavior, Chuck breathed out a restorative sigh of relief. He knelt down so he could look into her eyes, but she kept diverting her face, refusing to let him see her tears. Finally he gathered her into his arms as she furiously wiped her cheeks at the tears that had fallen. Cradling her against him, he leaned over and kissed away a tear. "Waldorf, I promise you, I am not running away from you, I would never do that."

"Then why were you pacing? Why did you look so ill at ease? You were wholly unlike yourself! How am I supposed to think anything else when you've been spotted the past two evenings in the company of your former paramours? One of which, was rumored to have eluded you?" Blair asked defiantly as her voice quavered. "I've ignored the rumblings from the last two days, because _you_ told me you were unavailable because of a business venture. I _trusted_ that you wouldn't lie to me, after what happened the other night. But instead I'm confronted with the fact that you've refused my advances and sought pleasure elsewhere."

"I was conducting business, Blair, you have to believe me. Whatever you think happened, I promise you, it didn't. It's not what you think—," he pleaded for her to listen to him. He needed to explain.

"What else am I supposed to think, Chuck?"

She tugged herself out of his embrace, and he could only watch as she walked to the window and stared out straight ahead into the rear garden. He paused only for a brief moment before he followed her, wrapping his arms securely around her waist. He buried his head into her hair for a moment, allowing the familiar yet always intoxicating scent of her hair to wash over him. Quietly he said, "I'm sorry that—."

"Stupid, stupid, stupid girl," she said, barely above a whisper as she shook her head.

"Blair, please," Chuck begged. "Please let me explain what's going on, why I'm here now."

With a slight nod, she became motionless. He actually found it easier to talk to her without looking directly into her eyes.

Chuck cleared his throat and slowly began, "There's a business opportunity that I've been waiting for. The measure for the Stockton and Darlington Railway has just been approved. These two brothers—George and Robert Stevenson, they're developing a locomotive, one that's faster than anything we can imagine. We've been corresponding for the past month, and they arrived in London to discuss the feasibility of me becoming their largest investor. I am certain a train route from Plymouth to London can be found, just as I am certain that they will find some way to get a "moveable engine" amended to their permit. I just needed an opportunity to speak to them—prove that I had the funds to back this venture and provide the most advantageous route. This is as high of a risk as they come, but the potential windfall would be tremendous! I would _finally_ be free of my father's shadow—Blair, this is it, I can feel it. And this isn't just about money; it's about modernizing the nation with innovation and imagination."

The tears on Blair's cheeks had dried as she listened to Chuck explain himself. When she spun around and looked into his eyes, she knew every word he had spoken was the truth. Relief saturated Blair. Underneath the level of calm he was projecting, she noticed the vein on his temple pulsing, and there was desperation for acceptance that resonated in his eyes. Suddenly, everything that seemed out of sorts began to find its place. Filtering through all the sparse details of his life that he had been imparted to her, clarity sunk in—in a sea of people, Chuck Bass was _alone_. And this was his way of admitting that being with her made him feel not so quite alone.

Still, she couldn't quash her unease at the latest gossip. "But what about the rumors that you were seen the past two nights with _your opera singers_? I heard it from several unimpeachable sources."

"They are not _my_ opera singers, Blair. George and Robert said they wanted to have the 'Chuck Bass' experience of hedonism, wanted to spend a couple of nights living as I once did—_before_ I met you," he said pointedly. "So in order to give them a taste of my old life, I asked if Valentina and Maria would be available to entertain. I paid them handsomely, and if need be, I will have them brought here for you to question. The only woman I have any desire of touching, is _you_, and _only you_."

"Really?" She asked quietly.

"I have never been around anyone as special as you," he whispered as his hands tightened around her waist.

Sliding her arms on his chest, she softly said, "I think your idea is wonderful, Chuck. If anyone can convince the Stevensons that they need a partner, it will be you."

He grinned. "They've already agreed in principle to the terms. All that's left is for me to go with them to Plymouth and see how far the locomotive is coming along—to see if _their_ claims are as solid."

"Truly, I am proud," she exclaimed as she hugged him in congratulations.

Pulling back, she noticed him searching for some sort of doubt in her eyes. Slowly he said, "So you understand then, that I won't be here to celebrate your birthday?"

Her birthday? What did this have to do with her birthday? In fact, her birthday wasn't for another—understanding dawned.

"Chuck, you cannot honestly think me so petty that I would wish you to pass up an opportunity just because it overlapped with my birthday? Is that what this is all about? You scared me because you didn't want to tell me that you were going to miss _my birthday_?" She asked in amazement.

He smiled sheepishly. "Yes?"

A brilliant smile crossed Blair's face, as she stroked his face, tenderly. "Stupid, stupid, stupid boy." She pulled his face down and brushed her lips across his. "I would like nothing more than to celebrate my birthday with you, but I suppose there may be one or two things more important then that and this is one of them." As her hand cupped his face, she stared deeply into his eyes as she sincerely said, "I believe in you—and if this is what it takes for _you_ to believe in you, then it's worth it. But if you're to leave soon, let us not waste time with words—we only have a few minutes left to make up."

He bent over and kissed her soundly on the mouth, and she melted into his embrace. Her hands eagerly speared his hair as she pressed herself against him, needing the comfort of his body. He sat her on the window seat and she wrapped her legs firmly around his waist. Chuck pulled slightly away. "Blair, there are things we still need to discuss…things about _us_."

"I know," she agreed. But right now, she didn't want to talk, right now, she wanted to feel. She pushed his morning coat off his shoulders and untied his cravat. Seductively, her hips undulated against him, causing him to groan. Coyly, she suggested, "When you get back?"

Desperate to feel his skin, she unbuttoned his shirt as quickly as possible. Her mouth attacked his neck with her tongue tracing patterns. She knew she had won the battle as she felt him harden against her.

"When I get back," Chuck agreed.

.

.

.

_**tbc**_

* * *

Thanks for the warm welcome back, I've missed this story so much! It is taking me a bit longer to get back into the swing of things, so I hope you will bear with me that my updates are on the slow side. I'm appreciative for all the kind words and support, so thank you readers and reviewers.

And a special thank you to Uncorazonquebrado for beta-ing this chapter.


	12. ch 11: all about his father

Blair poked her head through the doors to the Langleys' library and her eyes lit up at the sight of the seemingly empty room. With a quick glance over her shoulder, to confirm that no pesky suitor had followed, she slipped inside the room and shut the French doors firmly behind her. Her hands still clutched the solid gold door knobs as she leaned back against the wood panels, her eyes raking across the walls lined with an impressive amount of books.

She marveled at just how well her mother knew her sometimes. The last thing she would have expected was for Eleanor to suggest that she escape the overly crowded ballroom by exploring the infamous library. The concern that had flickered through her mother's eyes as she briefly scrutinized her, made Blair wonder if she was wearing the absence of Chuck too boldly on her sleeve. He had only been gone two days, but she missed him so much, it was unbearable. A large sigh escaped her, as she scolded herself for breaking her own rule—she was not allowed to ruminate about him in public—and refocused on the room in front of her.

"Hello?" Blair called out.

She wanted to make absolutely certain she was alone. Her eyes quickly scanned the room that was as silent as she could hope for.

"Is anyone here?" She tried once more.

When no voice answered her query, a radiant smile crossed her face. She turned around to fiddle with the latch on the door, locking herself inside. She started humming while she twirled herself around in circles across the room to reach the wall closest to her. Blair reached out and ran her finger across the spines of a shelf of books, before stopping to peruse the titles.

As she stared at the row in front of her, she sputtered in disbelief. Blair began to pull book after book off the shelf, all the while muttering to herself. "How can they even claim to be patrons of the written word when they don't even properly shelve their books? Ridiculous! Have they never heard of the alphabet?"

She shook her head as she realized the obvious lack of order the books had been placed in—there was no rhyme or reason to it, it were as though they had been haphazardly thrown at random. As she checked both the row above and below hers, she merely got confirmation to her suspicions.

"Well, the Langelys certainly aren't known for their intelligence. I can't say this is all that surprising," Blair mused aloud. Although, one would assume with their fortune, it couldn't be that difficult to hire someone to rectify the library situation. Since Blair was limited on time and had no desire to immerse herself with the monumental task, she would settle for fixing this single row. Just as she was about to resume her task, she was interrupted.

"Are you sure it's wise to reorganize a library that isn't yours?" A deep baritone voice called out.

Startled, Blair looked up, as her eyes swept the room. She frowned as she couldn't find a body. There was something strangely familiar about the voice—perhaps it was the timbre or cadence or even the manner in which the words were so clearly annunciated. Her eyes narrowed as she took an even slower look around the room.

"Up here." The voice called out again.

Her eyes darted up towards the second floor. It was the sound of footsteps that finally drew her to a discreetly hidden staircase in the far corner. Staring directly at her was an extremely distinguished looking man—slim and tall, rigid in posture, and he possessed the most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen. She could only detect a hint of amusement in their glacial depths, and Blair blushed as she expediently returned the books to their original position on the shelf.

By the time she had finished, the man was standing just a few feet away. A sense of unease crossed over her and she couldn't place the why. She just knew without a doubt that this man was not to be trifled with. Dropping into her most respectful curtsey, she apologetically said, "Excuse me, my lord, I have no idea what came over me."

"I'm thinking it had a little to do with the indignation at the nonsensical order to which these works are displayed," the man teased, after he inclined his head in acknowledgement of her respectful gesture.

When Blair looked up in shock at the playfulness of his tone, he shot her a wink.

"I've been perusing the shelves upstairs for the past thirty minutes and found books on botany, biology and cartography all in the same row—mind you, that was not including the volumes of Chaucer and Plato," he confided.

Blair bit her lip to stop herself from laughing out loud, but she couldn't hide the merriment in her eyes. However, she was genuinely concerned about the Langleys' inability to sort properly. "I must confess, my lord, it is rather abominable the utter disregard that is given to simply alphabetizing. While I can understand the need to put works in chronological order—be it grouped by author or subject—there is no accounting for the disarray of this library! How does one find anything?"

"Sheer luck and stupidity?" The man deadpanned.

With a brilliant smile, Blair's laughter echoed in room. Extending her hand, she introduced herself properly, "How do you do? I'm Blair Waldorf."

The man took her hand and kissed it. "Miss Waldorf, it's a delight to meet your acquaintance. I've not been out much since I arrived into the city. I'm Du—" The man suddenly burst out into a coughing fit. When he recovered, he continued. "Excuse me. Baron Lockwood."

Blair raised an eyebrow—there was something not quite right about that introduction. Everything about this man radiated power—was he really a mere baron? _And _w_here had she heard that name before_? As she tried to rifle through her memory as quickly as possible to place the connection—she'd have to look at the van der Woodsen's copy of _DeBrett's Peerage and Baronetage_ later—she fell into her polite mode. "Baron Lockwood, what brings you to London?"

The tight smile that crossed his face indicated his displeasure that she had pulled out her society veneer. But the look passed so quickly, Blair had wondered if she imagined it.

In a congenial voice, the Baron answered her. "I'm not entirely sure, Miss Waldorf. When I left my estate over a month, I had decided that it would be a nice change to spend the holidays in London."

"And was your family happy with the change in venture?" Blair inquired, noting the wedding band on his ring finger.

"I've long been a widower," he said quietly. "And my son and I are estranged."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, my lord. I pray you forgive me for my assumptions," Blair said apologetically.

Baron Lockwood waved his hand dismissively. "There was no way for you to know."

Blair nodded as she twisted her hands behind her back. How was she going to navigate her way out of this situation?

"My son is here, you see. Suffice to say, he's unaware of my presence in town, or rather, he's pointedly ignoring the fact that we are both in London."

"Have you thought to contact him? Or are you hoping he comes to you?" Blair wondered aloud.

"Not exactly."

She waited patiently to follow the Baron's lead on the direction of this conversation.

"I don't know what to say or how to say it," he said suddenly. Blair was stunned by the man's need to explain himself to her—a virtual stranger. "I find myself composing a note to send over to his residence, to ask him if I can pay a visit. But each time I take a second look, it reads like a summons—a command, really. And after the last words we exchanged, it doesn't feel right."

"But you're his father, there's no need to stand on ceremony. Perhaps he's been waiting for you to extend the olive branch?" she inquired.

"How does one extend an olive branch when the other's back is turned?" Blair watched as the Baron started to pace back and forth against the length of the room. "My son and I are both proud men, Miss Waldorf, and I'm ashamed to say that we can also be extremely cruel. While it may have helped had I chosen my words more carefully, I must admit that I do not regret the last words I spoke to him—it was truthful at the time. But I had not expected him to react so strongly, as it wasn't more severe than anything I had said before."

"And you are certain that those words weren't hurtful?" she asked gently. "No irrevocable damage was done?"

"How can I know? He stormed out of the house after we exchanged insults, and I haven't heard from him since."

"Oh," she said softly.

"Oh?"

"That might not be as uncommon as you think."

There was so much more Blair wanted to say, but it seemed inappropriate. She thought of Chuck and his father, and now this Baron and his son—what was it about the male species that allowed for such a deep breach? It didn't seem fair, she would love nothing more than to have another hour with her father. Yet here this man stood in front of her—hale and whole, and he was wasting precious hours fighting with his son.

And as though Baron Lockwood realized just how strange this all was, he cleared his throat before turning a smile towards her. "Miss Waldorf, I must apologize for burdening you with the boring details of my family. You are far too kind to allow me to ramble on without complaint."

"My lord, it was neither troublesome nor boring," Blair rushed to assure him.

"And charming," he added. "Pray tell, Miss Waldorf, with the number of qualities that recommend you, surely you must have a beau—a suitor?"

Instantly she pictured Chuck in her mind, and the last two times she was alone in his company. Blair's cheeks flushed as she shyly answered, "I think I might."

"Is he aware of your bluestocking tendencies?"

"He is."

"And what does he think of it?"

"Honestly?" She asked.

The Baron nodded in the affirmative.

Blair's eyes darted in a quick sweep of the empty room, and she leaned over and whispered, "I think he rather likes it."

Baron Lockwood chuckled.

"He is actually quite wonderful about it," Blair confided, unable to keep the dreaminess out of her voice. "He has never once doubted my intellect and brings me the most beautiful books. He once defended me to a group of his peers, demanding that they owed me an apology."

"He sounds rather perfect," he said sardonically.

"He is in his own way," Blair defended softly. "I get to see a side of him, that I don't think anyone else has. There's not one thing I would change about him."

"Is that so?" The baron scoffed. "And does this paragon of virtue have a name?"

"His name is of no importance. But he's more of a sinner than a saint. He would laugh if he heard himself described as such," she said in amusement, before her tone became quite sad. "But he is troubled by his own demons—as you are estranged from your son, he is estranged from his father."

"Has he asked for your hand, yet?"

"What—why, how?" Blair stuttered. How could this stranger ask the question that she did not even speak in her dreams? Even though every sign pointed towards something more permanent, until Chuck vocalized it, she kept those thoughts locked deep inside of her.

"Because it is rare to find a woman such as yourself," Baron Lockwood said sincerely. "If your heart was not so clearly engaged, nothing would stop me from plucking you out of this library, making amends with my son, just so I could personally drive you both to Gretna Green to be wed this instant."

Blair flushed at the wonderful compliment she was given, but couldn't help but notice how entirely _odd_ this was. There was no definitive pattern or structure to it—it almost felt as though she was being interviewed for a position that she wasn't supposed to be aware she was being auditioned for. And yet, something compelled her to continue speaking to this stranger. Perhaps it was that he was such a mystery—he was humorous yet cold, and there seemed to be a deep sadness about him. Blair knew she should be concerned about being found locked in the library with the man, but something told her that abandoning the Baron now was a mistake.

"My lord, you flatter me too much. But I'm certain there is a woman out there for your son," Blair said encouragingly. "Perhaps, he has already found her?"

"Maybe," he conceded. "But I'm not sure if he'll ever truly open his heart to anyone. Between his mother and myself, I fear that we've destroyed any part of him that would allow him to place his trust in anyone else. He would never want to leave himself vulnerable to being as hurt as he was as a child."

There was a long uncomfortable silence, which compelled Blair to speak up. "Surely you are just being hard on yourself. Perhaps the guilt over the years has tainted your memories?"

"My last words to him were that I found him to be an embarrassment and disappointment," the Baron said in a tone that was barely above a whisper as he looked away.

Those words—she _knew_ those words. She stared at the Baron in confusion, _no_, she shook her head, it wasn't possible. But she had only seen that blend of indifference, anguish and loneliness once before—when Chuck told her the story of his mother's death. The piercing stare that the Baron was pinning her with was the missing link to the story. Standing in front of her _wasn't_ Baron Lockwood, well, maybe he technically was. But more importantly, standing in front of her was Bartholomew Bass, Duke of Rowley, Chuck's father.

She could barely fumble the words out of her mouth, "Your Grace—."

"Blair, please, it was my decision to keep you uninformed of who I was," the Duke interrupted her gently. "It _is_ ok that I'm calling you Blair?"

"Yes, Your Grace." Blair fell into her most deferential curtsey—the one reserved for royalty—unable to stop herself from performing this unnecessary gesture. She was so completely flustered and overwhelmed that instead of handling this situation with the social grace that her mother had instilled in her, she was acting like a bumbling idiot.

With a kind smile, Chuck's father teased her. "Shall I expect you to repeatedly curtsey every time we meet?"

Blair's cheeks were beet red and she kept her head down, unable to meet Bart's eyes. Her humiliation continued to no end. This was not the exact impression she had wanted to leave on the father of the love of her life. Did Bart think she was a brazen hussy, freely discussing Chuck without realizing who he was? She closed her eyes and whispered, "Your Grace, please forgive me for overstepping my boundaries. I am mortified that I forgot myself."

She felt the tear that trailed down her cheek, and raised a hand to her mouth to muffle a sob. She closed her eyes, so she didn't have to look at him, and was startled when he tipped her chin up and met her watery eyes.

"Blair, you have nothing to be ashamed of. It is _I _who should be ashamed for deceiving you. Having observed you and Charles from afar, I could not pass up the opportunity to meet you in this type of setting. You have exceeded every expectation I could have had for you—you're wonderful. And you needn't worry, I have no intention of telling Charles what you've said about him, or that we've even spoken," he promised.

"Truly?" Blair asked worriedly.

Bart nodded. "Truly. And please, call me Bart."

"No, I couldn't, your Grace." The relief that she felt was short-lived. What was she doing? Why was _she_ apologizing to him? What would Chuck say when he found out that she had spoken to his father? This was the man who was responsible for his pain, and the last thing she should be doing was betraying Chuck by speaking to his father. Angrily she snapped, "I have to go—I shouldn't be here. Chuck wouldn't want this, for me to speak with you. Please, excuse me."

Bart's heart skipped a beat, as he reached out and lightly grasped at her elbow. She couldn't leave, not yet, not without giving him a chance. "Please, Blair, you must stay. I've sought you out for a reason—I need to explain some things to you about Charles, things from his past. You must want to know the details, I'm sure he has never told you. You must wonder why he is the way that he is?"

"What is there to know? You were a horrible father who ignored his child for an entire year after his mother passed away," Blair said to him icily as she pulled her arm from his grip and started to walk towards the door.

"I was, in fact, I still am a horrible father," he admitted loudly, stopping her in her tracks. "And I feel that the only thing I can do now, is equip the mother of my grandchildren with all the information she needs to keep him from pushing her away."

He did not expect for the stunned look on her face, when she whirled around to face him. How could this girl doubt for even one moment, that she was meant to be anything other than his son's wife?

"I think if you allow me to tell you about his mother and his childhood, things he is unaware of, than it will give you a better understanding about who he is and why he is the way that he is. You may not believe me, but I love my son. Watching him with you over the past few weeks has been a revelation. I've seen a side of him that I've never seen before. Therefore I beg you, Blair—for his sake—please let me tell you about his past."

Bart waited nervously as she stood meeting his gaze. He noted the slight hesitation, and breathed out a sigh of relief when she nodded curtly. She made her way to the armchair and sat down stiffly. Instead of joining her, he walked to the window, staring out at the dark, black night.

"Charles was a difficult child. As I look back on it now, I wonder, perhaps if his mother and I didn't drive him to it. To say that Evelyn smothered him with attention and affection is an understatement. I did the same for the first two to three years, while she was unable to." Bart paused. A quick glance at Blair confirmed that he had her complete attention. He closed his eyes and turned away from her. He didn't want her to see the desolation he still felt at the thought of what he was about to say.

"Felicity was his twin sister. She was very, very small, but she was a fighter—the doctor said it was a miracle she survived at all. But despite the best care, she died after just three months. Evelyn was so devastated by the loss of our daughter that she couldn't even bear to look at the son who had survived. I don't think she held him from the moment Felicity died, until he was nearly a year old. On my part, I was in constant fear that something would happen to Charles, so I used to keep him with me at all times. Even while I conducted business, I used to insist that the wet nurse have him in a bassinet in the corner of my study. I was incorrigible, really, and truthfully, I think even if Felicity hadn't left us, I would have done the same.

"You have to understand, Blair, my father was even colder than I was. And when I met Evelyn, she made me _feel_. I don't think I even understood what emotions were until she entered my life. She managed to completely charm me and we were wed within a month of having first met. Evelyn convinced me that having a family was the most important thing in the world, and I just thought that _she_ was. When I think back to my time with her, it seems like such a distant memory, a story that a governess must have read to me nightly. It's as though from the moment I met her, to the moment my beautiful little girl took her last breath, it was just a dream—because life as I once knew it vanished with Felicity.

"Evelyn was so overwrought with grief, and I was ill-equipped to handle it all. I convinced myself that if I loved Charles the way Evelyn loved me, that we could wait out her mourning period. I don't think Charles spent a single night in a crib after Felicity passed. It was irrational the way I obsessed over protecting Charles, it was as though I had to save him in order for Evelyn to return to me. Shortly before his third birthday, Evelyn returned to a version of her old self, and she became even more suffocating with Charles than I had ever been. He was at such a crossroad—the age where he wanted to be independent and do everything himself, so he became resentful of the attention she lavished on him. He was much too young to comprehend that his mother was only trying to make up for lost time, and preferred my presence to hers. Evelyn would fly into a rage when he was asleep, accusing me of turning her own child against her, before she would crumple over the bed and sob for hours. I taught myself to let go of Charles for her sake, so there would be no reason for her insecurities.

"We had kept the birth and death of Felicity a complete secret, with no one the wiser. And after Evelyn had come out of her dark days, I moved her to London so she could be surrounded by distraction. But by the time Charles had turned eight, Evelyn's mood swings were increasing and society had taken note. Everywhere she went, people would whisper how the Duchess of Rowley was headed to Bedlam. I had no choice but to ensconce us at Steganhearth, which upset Charles to no end. By this time he had become so smart and clever that he marched into my office and informed me that he was aware of my plans." Bart looked off into space as his memories overtook him.

_His eight year old son looked at him and spitefully said, "You are trying to punish me, I know it! Every time I make a new friend you demand that we return to Steganhearth, and frankly Father, I'm growing tired of this. If I'm to be the future Duke of Rowley, isn't it my job to forge childhood alliances to exploit for financial gain in the future?"_

_Bart bit his tongue from laughing outright. "Who told you such a ridiculous thing, Charles?"_

_He rolled his eyes. "Please, you forget who you're talking to. I have eyes, I see what goes on in your adult world. You don't think I actually _want_ to make friends with these children who are beneath me? I'm learning to play the game, so why must I be banished to the country?"_

"_Charles, I'm not banishing you," Bart finally relented with a laugh. "If they are children, what does that make you?"_

"_An adult trapped in a child's body," Chuck stated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "It isn't my fault that they're so immature. All they want to do is runaround and play, as if it would harm them to use their brains once in awhile."_

"_While I appreciate your attempt to enter the adult world at such a young age, son, I'm afraid, you are still an eight year old," Bart informed him._

_Charles waved his hand in the air and said, "All the better for the world to think, it makes me privy to more information. Adults always believe children are too young to really understand, so they pay no attention to what they say. It's how I do my reconnaissance."_

_Bart laughed again before saying quite seriously, "And has your research led to anything that has been said about your mother?"_

_Charles's eyes flashed defiantly for a brief moment, before he cleared his face from reflecting any emotion. With a raised eyebrow he stated, "Should I have overheard anything?"_

"_Charles," Bart said sternly._

"_I have heard the maids talking, and I overheard some ladies discussing 'an episode' involving Mother at the Thompson house last week," Chuck said as his eyes narrowed and he crossed his arms._

"_Your mother is unwell, son. I think it's best if we retire to the country to avoid any talk," Bart leveled with him._

"_So we are to run with our tail tucked between our legs just because people are _talking_?" His son yelled._

"_Talk and tantrums are, as you so delicately put it, secrets that get exploited for future financial gain," Bart returned. He stared hard at his son without blinking an eye. Charles returned the stare for a full minute before dropping his head. _

_With a quiet mumble he said, "As you wish father. May I be excused? I need to start packing my books if we are to return the country."_

"_Yes, son, you are excused." Bart watched as he straightened his shoulders and walked out of the study, head high and face, expressionless. He marveled at his son. Perhaps, when they were back home, he would spend some more time with him. I'll teach him to fence, Bart thought, before Evelyn let out a bloodcurdling scream. As he ran to find her, all thoughts of Charles flew out of his head._

"Your Grace?" Blair said loudly.

Bart snapped out of his daze and looked over at a worried Blair. "I apologize, I was woolgathering. Where did I leave off?"

"Chuck told you he was aware of your plan," she recited.

"Yes, well somehow between the hysterics of his mother and my neglect, Charles had become far too clever for his own age. He told me that I was interfering with his reconnaissance if we returned to the country." Blair's eyes lit up at his words, but she said nothing. "When we returned to Steganhearth, Evelyn had taken a turn for the worse and was catatonic for almost three months. Charles dutifully tried to garner a reaction from her each day, but she just sat at a window staring out to the spot where we had buried Felicity. Then suddenly, just after Charles's ninth birthday, once again I had my wonderful wife Evelyn back. As happy as I was, Charles was highly suspicious of his mother's sudden normalcy, and he took rebellion to a whole new level. Everything he did was some sort of underhanded plot or sneak attack on her, trying to see if he could elicit a response from her prior states of mind. And I was foolish, so blissfully happy to have my wife again, that I didn't see Charles pulling further and further away. He was afraid that if he trusted this version of his mother, that surely she would disappear again.

"Evelyn was with child soon after, and there was a serenity to her that I had never seen. It seemed as though she had finally gotten past Felicity's passing. That's when she started calling Charles by his dreadful nickname 'Chuck'! It was as though she knew he would no longer allow her to be his mother, so she opted to become his friend. And once he realized she was not playing a game, there were small moments that he would allow himself to let her play the role of parent; but only briefly, and always followed up by another scheme. I can't imagine what it was like for him, to experience so many various versions of his mother, each one stranger than the last."

Again he paused, allowing the silence to stretch into minutes. This was his most painful memory—the loss of his wife and the moment he abandoned his son. These were the moments that kept him up at night, the vivid reminders of how much he had failed as both a husband and a father. Blinking back the tears in his eyes, he finally spoke again. "She was about six months pregnant when she miscarried. Charles was the one who found her. Our footman, Arthur told me he had returned from his afternoon lesson and wanted to surprise Evelyn with a butterfly he had caught in a jar. But when he went in, she was sprawled on the floor, blood slowly trickling from her. By the time the doctor had been fetched and I returned from town, our second son Thomas had been lost. Evelyn was barely clinging on, but she was still alive and Charles was nowhere to be found. The staff spent the better part of four hours searching for him all over the estate—by then it had started raining. It was past midnight when Arthur found him shivering up in a tree and carried him back into the house.

"The next three days were the most agonizing days of my life, Charles had influenza and Evelyn kept calling for him. Against my better judgment, I allowed them to bring him into her room. She ended up catching his illness, and died two days later, just after Charles's fever had finally broke. When he snuck out of bed to ask me about his mother, I said something unforgivable. I told him that his mother was dead and it was his fault."

He didn't realize that Blair had walked up to him, until he felt her hand slap him hard across the face.

"He was nine years old! How could you say that to a child? I thought he had been imagining it when he told me that you blamed him," she sobbed as tears streaked her cheeks.

Bart closed his eyes and said nothing. His skin throbbed, and surely there must be an imprint of her hand across his face. There was a blessed sense of release, as though the welt that was forming signaled the beginning of a penance he had been waiting nearly two decades to pay. But Blair's indignation for the child version of Charles had only begun to surface. She hissed at him, "And you wonder why he won't speak to you? A child could never forget those words, whatever the context. I hope he never forgives you. And if I have anything to say about it, you will never hurt him again!"

Blair was trembling with rage. Her mind was racing, she had to find Chuck, had to tell him that his father was pure evil, and that she would help destroy him! How would she explain to her mother that her presence was needed in Plymouth, immediately? Would she be able to leave tonight? Her eyes were blinded with tears, and she stumbled over a footstool, unable to make her way to the door easily.

Bart grabbed her hand and fell to his knees as he whispered, "I don't want him to forgive me, I still haven't forgiven myself."

Blair jerked back her hand and stepped back. "You are a monster."

"I know."

"I can't be here right now, this is too much. I have to find Chuck—."

"Blair, don't leave yet!" Bart pleaded. "There's more you need to know. I'm not asking you to listen for me, I'm asking you to listen for Charles's sake. I know you love him and you can heal him."

His words stilled her. The last hour had been an utter nightmare. How could this single conversation with Chuck's father tap into the full gamut of emotions she possessed? As she looked at Bart, all she saw was a destroyed man, a Duke on his knees begging her to listen to him. What more could there possibly be? How much more could his father have damaged him?

"With you in his life, he has a chance to be someone he can be proud of," Bart continued.

"He already is, without my help," Blair said defiantly. "Chuck _is_ someone he can be proud of, in spite of what you've done to him."

"I didn't mean—."

"You have exactly a quarter of an hour to say anything else you feel is pertinent, and then I'm going to walk out that door, and I never want to see you again," she interrupted icily as she took her seat back in the chair.

Bart looked at her gratefully as he sat directly across from her, wiped his eyes and continued on with his horrible tale. Blair listened in absolute horrified silence as Bart skimmed over the details of his decline. He explained that with Evelyn gone, he didn't know what to do with Charles. He had been in a drunken state when he spoke those damning words, and continued to stay in that state for the next full year. He honestly couldn't remember if he left the ducal chambers at all after returning from the funeral. Not a single word had been exchanged between father and son, after his damning proclamation. Bart had been in such a state, that the servants had worried that they would find him dead one morning.

"Did you know that Charles learned to run the estate while I was disposed?" Bart asked her. She could hear the pride in his voice. "He taught himself to copy my signature completely so he could sign the bills. He may not have understood everything, but he knew how to delegate, and made sure the estate remained afloat. Arthur braved my wrath to speak up for my son. While I wanted to believe that I had a ten year old prodigy on my hands, it wasn't possible. I was convinced that Charles had only learned how to become more devious and underhanded, failing to realize that I had already had the manager in place, that it only fell to Charles to do the clerical end, and even then, I forgot that my secretary would have aided him. As usual, I thought the worst, convinced that he had tricked someone into doing the work and was taking the credit.

"Unsurprisingly, the first words I spoke to Charles, were just as cruel as the last. I told him, 'I suppose it was too much to hope for, to have an honest and trustworthy son. Instead, I have you, someone who will lie and cheat their way through life.'"

Blair's fingers itched to slap the Duke again. She wished she could plug her ears and block out everything he was saying, but she knew that these weren't lies. What kind of man would ever willingly admit to such callous behavior? She prayed that this exposition would soon be over, so she could figure a way to find Chuck. She so desperately needed to hold him right now, she wanted to cry in his arms and shower him with all the love in her heart.

Bart stared at her, as though he was expecting her strike him again. Blair just crossed her arms tightly, and gestured for him to continue.

"By the time I realized that Arthur hadn't been lying and that I had horribly misjudged my son, it was too late, Charles had shut me out completely. We each dealt with our feelings for each other in our own destructive way. I started to have unrealistic expectations of him, while Charles involved himself in escapade after escapade that danced the fine lines of propriety. It was a godsend for us both when it was time for him to go to Eton. However, it only took Charles two weeks to acquire all the pin money given to the other boys in his living quarters. Not only had he organized card games, he smuggled scotch into his room, convinced a classmate that they should set the bed of a despised upperclassman on fire, he even blackmailed a teacher. And yet, not one person at the school would speak against him, the headmaster had pieced together the events on his own. Somehow Charles had managed to become the most feared student at Eton, and I was being applied to for discipline.

"I felt equal parts of pride, embarrassment and exasperation—but I made it clear that I found Eton to be at fault for being unable to properly control a twelve year old. When I threatened to pull Charles out and send word that Eton no longer was the institution it once was, I didn't receive another progress report. The only times he returned here, was for the Christmas holiday and when school let out for the summer. Otherwise, he voluntarily stayed in the confines of Eton, rather then be stuck here with me. And it remained this way until Oxford.

"I decided that I had had enough of this silent battle, and informed him that he was expected to return to Steganhearth for all breaks, as it was time for him to start to learn about the estate and all the responsibilities that would come with it. Unexpectedly, he didn't object, but instead he showed up dutifully at each break that the school gave. When he arrived home, he followed whatever schedule I had laid out for him, without one word of complaint. But without fail, every night before his departure, he would ask to speak to me, only to point out every flaw and fault he observed. And Charles being Charles, wouldn't do so in any sort of helpful way—his tone was always mocking. He would infuriate me and then pout like an insolent child, insisting that he was only trying to help. What he failed to realize was that I actually listened to him, heard every suggestion he made and implemented the suggestions he would make. This continued for three years, until I received the letter that Charles would be skipping the Easter holiday to visit the Archibalds."

"Where I first met him," Blair interrupted for the first time all evening.

Bart simply nodded and continued with his story, as though she hadn't spoken a word. "I had spent all winter, analyzing my past behavior, and realized that everything that had gone wrong between Charles and I, was my own fault. I had decided that I would apologize to him, and hoped that the holiday would serve as a new beginning for us. I was rehearsing what I wanted to say when the note came, Charles had waited until the absolute last minute to inform me of the change in plans. And as quickly as I was remorseful, I defaulted in anger, sending a summons to the Archibald home demanding he return to the estate.

"And instead of being pleased that Charles was obedient and returned as requested, I was instantly suspicious. He walked into the house in good spirits, and even smiled at me when he greeted me. I hadn't seen him smile in years. I was convinced it was a trick, and before the end of the night, we were arguing again. That's when I told him that he was an embarrassment and disappointment. He didn't even respond, he just turned around and went up to his room to grab his belongings before leaving the estate. Ever since what happened that night with his mother, Charles had never run off again, I was certain he would return. But he hasn't, not in eight years.

"I, as always, regretted the harsh words I spoke. But I didn't know how to tell him that I was just so confused—how does a father explain that he overreacted because his son hadn't been _nice_ to him since he was nine years old?" Bart suddenly turned towards her, his eyes wild. "I know I have no right to ask him to forgive me, that I have been the worst of men towards him, but he is my son. I am at a loss of what to do. How do I even start to explain myself?"

Blair was speechless at the amount of emotion he had shown, and the silence in the room was deafening. Chuck's father turned away from her as though he couldn't bear for her to look at him.

Finally, after several minutes had passed, she softly said, "You could always write him a letter…" before her voice trailed off.

The Duke turned back towards her in surprise.

"That way you can say what it is you wish to say, without letting your feelings get the best of you—without him interrupting. And that way, if he ever doubts your love for him, he can look at the letter, and it will be tangible proof that you do," she explained.

"I could not have asked for a better wife for him, even if I had picked you myself. You are his reward for the suffering he has endured," he choked out gratefully.

"If he does ask me to marry me, I will guard his heart with my life." Blair vowed. She walked over to Bart, and placed a kiss on his cheek. "You don't deserve my kindness, but I know you have nothing."

And without turning back she walked away from him and out the door.

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_**tbc**_

* * *

It's been a calendar year exactly since I first started posting this fic, and am seriously hoping it will not take another one to finish it. So this chapter is for all the readers and reviewers who continue to follow this story, thank you so much for taking the time to read it.

My deepest gratitude to Uncorazonquebrado for not only beta-ing this chapter, but for reassuring me that I am in fact crazy, and that that's ok.


	13. ch 12: because i love her

"Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure," Chuck said as he slowly stood up from the table.

"Bass, you must stay!" Robert Stevenson said as he waved down the overly endowed bar maiden.

"You _must_. We insist," his brother George chimed in.

"I'm afraid I'm a bit tired," Chuck answered lamely.

"Well one more round won't hurt you, will it?" George pressed.

"No, I suppose it won't," he agreed. "But I'll be off after that. I want to leave reasonably early tomorrow morning."

"Is there nothing we can do to entice you to stay?" Robert asked as he gestured to the maiden that had come over to refresh their tankards of ale. Suddenly a sly smile crossed his face as he teased, "Or perhaps Plymouth cannot compete with a particular gem from London?"

"Don't think we didn't notice how you did not partake in the debauchery we had demanded you provide for us," George added. "What delectable morsel are you hiding from us?"

Chuck forced a laugh. "I assure you, that's not the case—."

"My brother speaks from experience, he falls in love nearly weekly," Robert jabbed playfully, as he ignored the objection. "But they take one look at his ugly mug, and they keep turning him away!"

"'Tis true, no woman will have me," George said ruefully as he clapped a hand on Chuck's back.

"She must be exquisite to capture the attention of the infamous Chuck Bass," Robert observed.

Silence.

"She _is_ rather perfect," Chuck admitted sheepishly. He voiced the words that he had felt for so long, and it felt liberating—as though a weight had been lifted from his chest. It struck him in that moment—everything that was right in his life was _her_. And he didn't want to waste another minute being without her.

"A toast to your lady, my friend," Robert said as he raised his tankard of ale.

"And to your safe return to her," George cheered.

Chuck smiled and lifted his stein. As the brothers carried on, he quietly drank his ale. Already his mind was floating far away—to his return to London, but most importantly his return to Blair. He took another sip. If he calculated correctly, he would make it back just in time to celebrate her birthday. Then he would ask for her heart, and offer his in return.

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_Knock-knock. _

"Blair?" Eleanor called out cautiously as she opened the door to her daughter's bedroom.

She watched worriedly as Blair quickly drew herself up from the bed and sat up. Ever since the Langley's ball three days ago, when she had sent her daughter to the Duke to get a closer look, a melancholiness had descended over Blair. No matter how hard she pressed, Blair hadn't budged an inch. And when Bart had called on Eleanor at her dress shop the following morning, he looked as though he hadn't slept all night.

"_My daughter has been withdrawn after your lengthy meeting with her. If she hadn't made her way to the carriage and sent a footman with a note, it would have been impossible to excuse her long absence. You said you only needed half an hour with her, and no more."_

_Bart's face was impassive as he said nothing._

"_Did you say something to upset her? Did she figure out who you were?" Eleanor asked evenly. As much as she wanted this match for both Blair and herself, she would not offer her daughter as a sacrificial lamb over a title. _

"_Your daughter is exquisite," he answered evasively. _

"_Obviously."_

_He cleared his throat. "The entire Waldorf debt has been paid off."_

_Eleanor couldn't stop her jaw from dropping. The amount Harold had amassed was sizable, surely just a drop in the bucket to the Duke's vast fortune, but nonetheless she had not expected this. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, "Why? The papers haven't even—."_

"_When my son asks your daughter for her hand," Bart interrupted. "I want the only reason for her to say 'yes' to be because she loves him."_

"_Surely, after meeting her, you can't believe—."_

"_I have no doubt that she loves him." A moment later he softly said, "She is an angel."_

"_I'm not sure I understand," Eleanor said carefully._

_Bart handed her the packet of parchment that he'd brought with him. "This is everything we agreed on—including an account in your name with what I believe to be a generous settlement."_

_She untied the ribbon and unrolled the paper. Her eyes bugged out when she read the figures. When she looked up, the Duke was already at the door. _

"_When you are ready to go public with your dual identity, you can count on the support of the Rowley Dukedom."_

"_Bart, this is more than I could have ever hoped for—but what's prompting all of this?"_

"_I want Charles to have everything I could never give him. With Blair by his side, he will never want for anything."_

"_And on the almost non-existent chance she says no, what then?" Eleanor asked fearlessly. She needed to protect Blair at every cost. Even though she would stake her life that Blair only wanted Charles, she needed assurances._

_She sensed his hesitation, but his words surprised her. "Should she choose otherwise, there will be no consequences. Only the vocal support about your decision to go into trade would be withdrawn. But you can expect that when Charles returns to London, he will propose to your daughter."_

"_How can you be so sure?"_

"_Because I know my son." _

_Before she could say another word, he was gone._

"Yes, Mother?"

"Darling, are you ok? You haven't been well since the night we were at the Langleys," Eleanor said gently as she sat down next to her daughter.

Blair pursed her lips. "I'm fine. I'm just tired and I miss Chuck, terribly," she whispered.

"And that's all?" She prodded.

Blair nodded.

Eleanor sighed loudly. "You're certain there's nothing else?"

"I'm certain."

"Well, I have a surprise for you that just might cheer you up. If you'll come downstairs with me?"

"Do I have to? Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, but I'd rather be left alone, Mother."

"The surprise comes in the form of a guest, and it would be rude to keep _him_ waiting any longer," Eleanor said slyly.

"_He_?" Blair's face lit up, and Eleanor felt a pang of guilt having had misled her.

"It's not Charles, darling," she said apologetically.

She watched her daughter deflate just as quickly.

"Mother, I don't know if I'll make good company. Could you please give my excuses?" Blair asked hopefully.

"Just come and say hello, dear. If you're still not up to being sociable, you can make your excuses and I'll vouch for you."

With a sigh of resignation, Blair stood up and gestured for her to lead the way. As they walked down the stairs, Eleanor crossed her fingers that their surprise guest would be just the trick to snap Blair out of her doldrums.

Opening the door to the drawing room, she allowed Blair to enter first. Eleanor felt a sense of relief when she heard her daughter gasp, before she launched herself into their visitor's arms and squealed loudly, "Carter!"

"Blair Bear!" He teased as he embraced her. "Look at you, all grown up!"

"You're back! I've missed you so much!" Blair exclaimed as she remained in his arms.

"I'm back," he confirmed.

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.

It was almost midnight and eerily quiet on the cobblestone street across from the docks. Hidden in the shadow of a doorway, Bart patiently waited for opportunity to strike. He had been waiting nearly two hours for Charles to emerge from dinner at the tavern with the Stevenson brothers. If it grew any later, he would have to wait until tomorrow to try again to speak with his son.

He had passed the time by reliving his conversation with Blair in his head, over and over again. Nothing about that night had gone according to plan. All he had wanted was to speak to her for a few minutes, to see what it was like to interact with her, instead of just observing her. He hadn't expected to be as thoroughly charmed by her as his son was, and his guard had slipped. But by then, it had been too late, and he was overwhelmed by the need to confess his sins. He had revealed far too much and she had figured out who he was. Bart should have expected it—there was no way that Charles could be enamoured by someone without intelligence. He smiled to himself, they would have their hands full when they started their own family. His grandchildren would be too clever for their own good. It was the image of his son in domestic bliss that gave him resolve.

There was a strong breeze coming from the bay and he glanced around for the umpteenth time, mentally bracing himself. As he let out a sigh, his son finally emerged from the establishment—fortunately alone. He waited for him to walk right by before calling out, "Charles."

He watched as his son's head snapped towards him. Charles instantly went still—his backbone rigid, shoulders straight, and his lips pulled into a tight line.

"Father," Charles acknowledged with a curt nod as he turned to face him.

Bart could sense the tension that was building within him, and he wished there was something he could do—something he could say, that would magically erase the anger and the pain of the past eight years and beyond. He wished he was a strong enough man to ask his son for forgiveness—but he was far too proud to do so. Instead, he focused on the task at hand, the one thing he could do to insure that Charles was tipped towards making the right decision. Bart shuddered internally at the callousness in which he would behave, but this was his son's happiness at stake.

"What drags you away from the lights and entertainments of London? Surely you didn't come to Plymouth voluntarily?" Bart sneered.

"I'm here on business," Charles said evenly.

Bart was impressed that he hadn't walked away yet—he could see his son was struggling to control his emotions.

"Business?" Bart scoffed.

"Yes, business."

"Since when were you interested in anything other than spending money and bedding women?"

"There are a great many things you don't know about me, Father," Charles said bitterly.

"I highly doubt it."

"As interesting as it was running into you, you'll have to excuse me, I return to London in the morning."

"So the rumors are true," Bart tsked.

"Rumors?" Charles asked, taking the bait.

"Yes, the fact that all of London is abuzz at your panting after that little chit, Miss Waldorf," Bart jeered.

At the mention of Blair, he noticed the momentary softness in his son's eyes that was quickly replaced with a steely glare. While Charles had managed to keep from reacting, it was clear that he would no longer be able to. Bart was relieved, until that moment, he had been worried he would be unable to provoke any response from him.

"Don't speak to me about her," Charles hissed protectively. "Not a single word. Disparage my character, my behavior, _anything_—but you are not to say one thing against her."

"My, my, it seems like that fortune hunter has you wrapped around her finger," he taunted. "Has she managed to keep you out of her bed? Or perhaps she's let you sample her offerings? Is that why you're acting like a lovesick fop? It's beneath you, Charles—you know this. Bass men do not dance to any woman's tune."

"Enough," Charles lashed back. "Blair is not a fortune hunter and don't you dare question her virtue."

"Spoken like a fool! You've opened your heart to her, and it's made you weak," Bart clucked. "Surely you don't believe that Miss Blair Waldorf is interested in _you_ alone, do you? I hope you've done your research on her. You needn't have to even dig that deep to discover her father left them swimming in debt. She needs to make a match—_this season_. Everyone around town knows that her mother will sell her to the highest bidder."

"It doesn't matter," Charles continued to defend blindly. The shock on his face revealed to Bart that he had not known about their financial situation. "It doesn't matter if she's in debt, Blair isn't like that. You don't know her. She would never—."

"Never what? Never use her womanly wiles to seduce you into thinking that she's the only woman for you? Never look up at you with those big brown eyes of hers and flutter her lashes? I have to hand it to her mother, she trained her daughter brilliantly." He laughed hollowly. "Bed her if you must, but we both know what women like Miss Waldorf are for—set her up in a house, buy her some pretty baubles and that should satisfy the both of you plenty."

The anger within Charles was visible—just one more push and he would tip over the edge.

"Surely you weren't foolish enough to think of marrying her, were you? Blair Waldorf will never be the Duchess of Rowley," Bart said with finality. He forced his eyes to turn even colder as he stared down his son. "Keep her behind closed doors, if you must, Charles, but you will need to wed a _proper_ wife. Do not forget who you are. You know better than to bring down the family name by allowing someone like her into our bloodline."

"If that's your position, then you'll have to disown me," Charles returned with an equal level of conviction.

"You would pick that strumpet over the—."

"I would choose her over _anything_ and _everything_," Charles vowed.

"What could possibly make someone like her worth that kind of devotion?"

The silence between the two men stretched. Bart suddenly wondered if he had gone too far, had he overestimated the connection between his son and Blair? Panic flooded him, if his son decided to spurn Miss Waldorf now, Charles would be condemned to a life of unhappiness. Nothing he could say would ever be able to undo this damage.

"Well?" Bart asked scornfully.

"Because I love her," Charles whispered. "And she makes me happy."

Relief came in waves. His son would have a love match.

"And what do you even know about love?"

"Only what she's shown me," Charles said softly.

"Is that what she said when she was lying on her back—."

"Stop!" He interrupted furiously. "You are speaking about the woman I love—the woman that I will marry, the future mother of _your_ grandchildren, if _she'll_ have me."

"_If_ she'll have you?" Bart scoffed. "Don't debase yourself for someone in her situation. She should be grateful you're even—."

"This conversation is over, Father," Charles said icily. "You have not had to concern yourself with me for the past eight years, there is no need for you to do start doing so now. I'm going to live my life as I see fit. I have no use for your title, your money or you. I have Blair, she's all I need."

"Charles!" Bart called after him instinctively. Fortunately, it was too late—his son had already stormed off down the street.

He stood and watched as his son disappeared from sight. It was only then that he allowed himself to sag against the wall, with the farce now complete. Emotionally he was drained, but he had accomplished what he had set out to do. Without a doubt, Bart was certain that his son would pack up his belongings and drive back to London and finally propose to Miss Waldorf.

.

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_**tbc**_

* * *

A/N: I apologize that the chapter is so short, but it felt unbalanced any other way.

Thank you so much for your kind words and continued support of this story. I am so thrilled that you are all enjoying it still.

A debt of gratitude to Uncorazonquebrado for her amazing beta skills—where have you been all my life?


	14. ch 13: a glimmer of the past

"Lord Baizen has arrived," Vanya announced.

Blair looked up from the newspaper in amused irritation.

"Send him in," Eleanor ordered.

Carter swept into the room. "Lady Waldorf. Blair Bear."

"Hello Carter," her mother said with a smile.

Blair rolled her eyes at him before snippily responding, "It's Miss Waldorf, to you. You're _two hours_ late."

"I have an excellent reason," he said in an overly exaggerated tone.

"You didn't even stay for supper last night," Blair huffed. "In fact, you stayed for less than an hour and I don't wish to speak to you right now. You can see yourself out."

"_Children_, please," Eleanor said with a laugh. "Carter, I forgot to ask you yesterday, when are you returning to Mansfield?"

"I went there directly after I arrived from America. Father and Frederick are staying behind for a week or so, but Mother and the girls are leaving the estate today. They should be here with time to spare, for _Miss Waldorf's_ birthday," Carter said easily, before addressing her by her requested name.

"You remembered!" Blair said in a pleased tone.

"Oh, you're speaking to me again?"

"Perhaps. I am rather fond of your parents. How was it that you turned out the way that you did, when you have the most darling sisters? And even Frederick is an angel. But _you_," Blair sighed dramatically.

"Why do I tolerate your presence again?" Carter asked wryly.

"Let's see, because Laura and Heather adore me? Or maybe because I'm smarter than you? It might actually be—."

"Being the annoying daughter of our neighbors is the only reason that comes to mind," he interrupted smoothly.

"I really do wish that Georgie's family had been in the middle instead of yours," Blair said spitefully.

"_Blair_," Eleanor scolded lightly as she turned to Carter. "I have missed your mother quite a bit, it will be wonderful to see her again."

"Oh no!" Blair cried out.

"Dear?" "Is something wrong?" They asked in unison.

"Georgie will be so upset when she finds out she missed you and your family! She left for Spain yesterday morning and won't return until after the New Year!" Blair said with disappointment. Tea with G and the young Miss Baizens would have been the _perfect _birthday distraction, allowing her not focus on Chuck's absence. And she knew that Georgie would have loved the opportunity to see all of the Baizens.

"I'm sure we'll all still be here when she returns. I think I've convinced Mother of spending the holidays in town," Carter said easily. "How is Lady Sparks?"

"Why so formal, Carter? Georgina is doing well, as lovely as ever," Eleanor said pointedly.

"It's been quite some time since I've last seen her."

"Georgie said you haven't seen her since before she got married. And you had better still be here when she gets back from her trip. I won't stand for this Carter—G has been absolutely wonderful since we got here. She even mentioned hosting Laura and Heather when they're of age," Blair admonished. "But first, you must tell me how long you're staying for? Then I want to hear about Frederick's health. And finally you _must_ tell me all about your adventures in America."

"Blair, dear, why don't you give Carter a moment to breathe?" Her mother asked.

"Because he's been gone for over three years, Mother. And he needs to tell me _everything_!" She answered smartly.

"Don't worry, I have no plans on leaving anytime soon," Carter said as he flashed a grin. "I'm back—_permanently_."

"Oh, Carter, that's the best news I've heard all day!"

"Well, I also have a surprise for you. I do recall a mousy-haired, bratty neighbor of mine loving presents?"

Blair stuck her tongue out him. "My hair is _not_ mousy."

"We shall agree to disagree then," Carter teased.

"Did you bring me a book?" She asked hopefully.

"Don't be silly, I brought you something even better."

She sighed as she wondered what else he could have possibly brought her. Blair sincerely hoped it wasn't any sort of decorative figurine. Although most women she knew loved them, she found them so useless and common.

"Not everyone can pander to your every wish like Lord Bass, dear," Eleanor reminded her.

"Who's Lord Bass?" Carter asked.

"The Marquess of Stanhope," Eleanor clarified with a sly smile. "He's a dear friend of Blair's."

"Is he, now?"

Blair blushed furiously as she glared at her mother. She hated speaking about Chuck, especially with people who didn't know him. She guarded every morsel of information close to her chest. She still hadn't decided how to approach him about her conversation with his father, or better yet, if she even should. What she was most fearful of, was the fact that he would think she pitied him, when the truth was, it only made her love him more. She wasn't sure he would understand that knowing of his nightmarish upbringing would only help her to vanquish his many demons.

Carter frowned as he took in her flushed reaction. "Is he a suitor?"

"That has yet to be determined, isn't that right, Blair?" Eleanor said carefully.

She turned her nose up at Carter. "It's none of your business. Now, are you going to give me my present or not?"

"I'll be right back."

When their guest had left the room, Blair turned and glared at her mother.

"I do not appreciate you speaking about Chuck to anyone," she hissed.

"Carter is hardly anyone, Blair, he's practically family," Eleanor replied indifferently.

Just as Blair opened her mouth to lecture her mother, Carter returned. He placed two bundles in front of her.

"Think of it as all your missed birthdays and Christmases."

She forced a smile as she already could tell that one package was a bolt of fabric, while the other held the unwanted decorative figurine. She unwrapped the parcel to find an absolutely gorgeous emerald green silk, but it was much brighter than she preferred. Politely she said, "It's beautiful."

He smiled happily at her. "I picked it out myself."

Blair could not help but compare it to the lovely royal purple silk with silver threading that Chuck had purchased for her two months earlier. Her mother was in the process of expertly fashioning the fabric into a stunning gown for her birthday. She reached for the case to see which figurine he had selected.

"How darling," her mother cooed as she delicately lifted one of the pair of hand-painted, porcelain bunny rabbits.

She was absolutely flummoxed—what had he been thinking? Bunny rabbits, _really_? Ducks, she could have stomached—but bunny rabbits? Did he know her at all? How could he have forgotten that a single book would have trumped both gifts combined? Come to think of it, Georgie had an entire curio cabinet full of little figurines. Perhaps Blair would be able to pawn them off onto her, without Carter being any the wiser.

"Do you like them?" He asked eagerly.

"They're beautifully painted," she dodged his direct query. "They'll look lovely in my room."

He looked pleased with himself.

"Thank you for thinking of me, Carter," she said with a smile.

"I have one more gift for you," he said. "It's the reason I was tardy."

Inwardly, Blair groaned. What other gift was he going to present to her that she was going to have to pretend she loved?

"Carter, you really shouldn't have," Eleanor said. "You've already spoiled Blair plenty."

"Truly, Carter, it's too much. If you bought your sisters the same as you've gifted me with, you'll have spent a small fortune," Blair protested. Although the Baizens were quite well off, Carter was technically a second son. His older brother Frederick had been sick his entire life and it was openly understood that while he held the title, Carter was the true heir.

"Will it make you feel better, Blair Bear, if I tell you that America wasn't just good to me—it was grand? Standing in front of you, is an obscenely wealthy and self-made man," Carter said proudly.

Her mouth opened in shock. Carter had never demonstrated any true ambition, which is why she, like everyone else, had been surprised when he had announced his desire to travel to America and try his hand at fortune there.

Carter smirked at her. He walked to the door and called out for their butler. "Vanya, if you could bring the gift here."

A moment later, Vanya, accompanied by three of the footmen, carried in a large trunk and set it in front of her.

"Well, go ahead, open it."

Blair looked at him suspiciously but did as she was bid.

"Heavens, Carter!" Eleanor exclaimed as her eyes bulged at contents the chest—it was full of bolt after bolt of undyed cotton and roll after roll of hand-stitched lace.

He blushed slightly. "It's really a gift for both of you. After Blair selects what she likes, I thought the rest would come in handy for your endeavor, Lady Waldorf."

"Carter!" Blair sniffled as her eyes teared up. "You've just made it impossible for me _not_ to forgive you! It is so annoying of you to be so _nice_!"

"Blair," he said in a more serious tone. "You know I'll always be here for you."

She walked over to him and gave him a hug. "Thank you, Carter!"

.

.

.

Chuck gave a harsh tug to the reins and his horse came to halt. He jumped down, and handed the straps of leather to the stable lad that rushed out to greet him. Instead of entering the inn to settle the matter of switching horses, he found himself walking around the grounds. The four hours of hard riding had done little to expel the emotions that raged within him.

After unexpectedly meeting his father last night, he had been restless, unable to sleep. The high spirits he had been in when leaving the tavern had spiraled to incredible lows after their run-in. But what had surprised Chuck the most was that he hadn't been immobilized by Bart this time. When his father had started to insult Blair, it had been too much for him to handle. Leaving had been the only thing that stopped him from taking a swing at his father. How could Bart act this way? He didn't even know her. He had no doubt that if his father just met her _once_, he would see how wonderful she was.

He laughed bitterly. Even now, he still wanted his father's approval. What came as a bigger shock was the fact that he knew he could never give her up. If it came down to a choice between making amends with Bart or being with Blair, he would choose her—_every time_. That realization had spurned him to leave before dawn broke that morning, instructing that his carriage follow.

With renewed determination to get to her, he turned around and headed towards the inn.

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.

.

"Blair, there's something I wished to discuss with you," her mother said over breakfast.

"Hmm?" She asked in surprise as she looked up from her book.

It was a rare occurrence, but both Serena and Lily had opted to have a tray sent to their rooms, leaving Blair and Eleanor in blissful silence.

"Darling, why don't you put your book away, so we can have a proper talk?"

Very slowly, Blair set aside her volume of Shakespeare, as she eyed her mother curiously. Eleanor had been hovering around her lately, especially since the Langley's ball. For the three days that followed, Blair had been too knotted up from meeting the Duke to speak—even to Serena. And then Carter's surprise arrival a couple days earlier had been a godsend, temporarily distracting Blair from focusing on the niggling doubt she felt. She was still wrestling with indecision on whether or not she should speak to Chuck about having met his father, or better yet, _how_. The last thing she needed right now was for Eleanor to wish to have a 'talk' with her.

When her mother reached out and took her hand, Blair suddenly felt nervous. She looked expectantly at her mother.

"I have some wonderful news."

She let out a sigh of relief and waited for Eleanor to continue speaking.

"We've had a benefactor who has come forward and paid off your father's debt," her mother said excitedly.

Blair was stunned. "Who?"

"He is a friend of the family," Eleanor answered evasively. "He prefers to remain anonymous. But if I were to be truthful, it's sufficient to say he is family."

"But what did we do to be the recipient of such generosity?"

She noted the brief look of sadness that crossed her mother's face. Softly Eleanor answered, "I suspect he wants to undo a wrong that his pride will not allow him to put right."

Her face wrinkled in confusion. "What does that even mean?"

"Just know that you no longer have anything to worry about. Whatever I said before the Season started, about you needing to select a husband, can be disregarded. While, I _do_ plan on announcing my identity this time next year, we are in a financial position now that allows you to do whatsoever you wish. A more than respectable dowry has even been provided for you. You are free to make a match of _your_ choosing, strictly based on _your_ wants."

"My wants have not changed since I was eleven," she said quietly. This was the closest she had come to verbalizing her hopes that Chuck would wish to marry her.

"I have no doubt that they haven't," Eleanor agreed.

"Is this really happening? Are we really debt-free?"

"It is the truth. All of our markers have been returned to us and as per the bank, our accounts are back in the black. We no longer have to economize," her mother said with a smile. "So perhaps, after we get your birthday dress fitted this one final time, I could be convinced to let you spend an hour or so at Hatchards later? It is safe to say, we can now afford to buy you more than a couple of books."

Blair stood up from the table and threw her arms around her mother, hugging her tightly in relief. She was no longer a pauper.

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.

.

The house bell that had rung mere moments ago was followed by loud pounding. Arthur's lips tightened in irritation by the impatience of the person on the other side of the door. With the Marquess gone for another four to five days, visitors were not expected—although truthfully, Chuck rarely had a visitor that wasn't Lord Archibald. Arthur took a deep breath and schooled his face to betray no emotions as he swung the door open.

"Good afternoon, Arthur!" Chuck said easily. "I'm afraid I didn't bring my key with me, so forgive me if I pulled you away from your duties.

"My lord!" He exclaimed. "We weren't expecting you for—"

"Another few days?" Chuck interrupted.

Arthur nodded.

The Marquess merely shrugged, the hint of a smile still playing on his lips. Without another word, he started to make his way down the hallway.

"You seem to be in good spirits, my lord," Arthur observed as he followed Chuck into the study. "I trust your trip went well?"

"The trip was rather…illuminating, if you will."

He was surprised by the tint of red on his master's cheeks.

Cautiously, Arthur asked, "What of your carriage, my lord? Your trunks?"

"About that…" He trailed off. "Ivan, the carriage, as well as my belongings should be here late tomorrow. I found myself rather restless in Plymouth, and left two days ago by horse," Chuck confessed.

Arthur frowned. He had hand-picked Ivan as Chuck's valet for this specific trip—it was only the third time the Marquess had traveled without him. He would have much preferred that Ivan followed Chuck back.

"I can tell from your expression that you're not happy with Ivan," Chuck said knowingly. "Will it make you feel better, if I told you that he begged to come along, and I instructed him to stay behind?"

"Ivan was selected as more than your valet, my lord. He was supposed to protect you, should any highway robbers attack," he answered stiffly. "But if your lordship wished otherwise, then at least Ivan has proved to be obedient."

"Sometimes, Arthur, I do believe you still picture me a young boy," Chuck said ruefully. "But I appreciate your concern."

"That is not the case, my lord," he insisted, as he tried to mask his distress at the news. "I just wish no injury to befall you. And to make a trip that takes nearly four days, in less that time—I simply worry about your health."

"You're frowning at me, Arthur," Chuck observed with a smile. "But what if I told you that it was imperative I return to London? That there was something I had put off, but could no longer avoid?" Almost to himself, he softly said, "Nor do I wish to."

"My lord?" He asked in confusion.

"There is a ball I need to attend this evening, a certain someone I need to see."

"I beg your pardon?"

He stared in awe at the Marquess, Arthur had never seen him behave in such a manner—so open yet secretive. Chuck's eyes were twinkling with mischief and he was practically beaming with happiness.

"As my oldest and most faithful servant, I'm going to bend the rules and let you in on a secret."

"As you wish, my lord."

"I need you to wish me luck, Arthur. If all goes well, when I return tonight, you will find that you have yourself a mistress," Chuck said shyly. "I plan on asking Miss Waldorf to become my wife."

"My lord!" He exclaimed with joy. Kendrick's visit last week made sense now. "May I be the first to congratulate you?"

"Thank you, Arthur, but you might be a tad premature. I would rather wait until Blair actually agrees to become Lady Bass."

"I am sure, my lord, she will only be too happy to say yes. And might I say," Arthur paused to clear his throat from the emotions that overwhelmed him. "Your mother would be quite proud of you. Miss Waldorf is someone whom she would have approved of."

"Really, Arthur? You think so?" Chuck asked hopefully.

It was in that moment, the Marquess transformed back into the nine year-old boy Arthur had vowed to himself he would always protect.

"Your mother was a wonderful and kind woman, my lord. I was proud to serve her and am equally proud to serve you. It is a shame she isn't here for this momentous occasion."

"You have no idea how much I appreciate that, Arthur," Chuck answered with a bittersweet smile. "I'm going to entrust you with a most important task."

"Of course, my lord."

"I'll need you to have some betrothal rings sent to the house in the morning. Blair isn't just any woman, you know, she's fit to be a queen," Chuck said adoringly. "I'll need something exquisite, something that is worthy of her. I trust you know that price is no object. And I'll wish you to be discreet, more than usual."

"It would be my great honor," Arthur said proudly. "But, my lord, if I might make a suggestion?"

"Yes, of course."

"If I may be so bold, I believe Miss Waldorf might prefer something more classic. Perhaps, an heirloom?"

Chuck's eyes turned both sad and ice cold at once. His voice sliced through the air. "That will not be possible."

"Excuse me, but one moment, my lord," Arthur said quietly. Once Chuck gave him a dismissive nod, he quickly exited the study. He made his way down the hall to his coveted room on the main floor. He pulled out his trunk from underneath the bed, and rummaged around until he found the small, locked chest. He fished the key from his inside coat pocket and unlocked the box. He found the velvet, dark purple pouch and rested it on his bed, before locking the chest once again and tucking it back in its hiding place.

With the bag in hand, he expediently returned to the study, to find a much subdued Chuck, sitting at the desk, his hand clutching a glass of scotch. The joy and excitement that had been on his face earlier, had been replaced with uncertainty.

"My lord, might you consider presenting her with this?" Arthur said as he nervously placed the pouch in front of him.

"Arthur, what is this?" Chuck asked stiffly.

"Please, open it, my lord."

He watched anxiously as Chuck slowly reached for the bag. Chuck untied the knot and pulled out the sterling silver oval-shaped box. Chuck's eyes widened in surprise as his hand reverently traced the elaborately engraved flower design encircling the name 'Evelyn'. His hands shook as he opened the lid, to find the large amethyst stone winking back at him.

"My mother's betrothal ring," Chuck whispered. "But where did you get this? How?"

"Just after you left for Plymouth, Kendrick brought it to me," Arthur answered honestly.

"What was he doing with my mother's ring?"

"Kendrick always accompanies the Duke when His Grace is in London. When Kendrick heard about your courtship with Miss Waldorf, he sent for the ring and brought it to me."

"Does my father know?"

Arthur shook his head before shifting uncomfortably. He hated lying to the Marquess, but it was for his own good _and _he had given Kendrick his word. Chuck deserved to have his mother's betrothal ring, but if he found out that the Duke had sent it to him via Kendrick, Chuck would deny himself his birthright. Finally he answered with a fib, "If the Duke finds out, Kendrick will be dismissed."

"Then _why_?"

"He felt that it belonged with you, my lord. It would only be fitting that Her Grace's ring be handed down to the future Duchess."

After a long wait, Chuck quietly said, "Arthur, I need to be alone."

"Yes, my lord," Arthur said. He bowed and slipped out, shutting the door behind him.

Chuck lifted the ring out of the pink velvet-lined box. He remembered the ring so vividly from his childhood it felt surreal even looking at it. He couldn't stop the memory he had long repressed from flooding back.

"_Why do you keep staring at my stomach, Chuck?" His mother asked with a smile. _

_He jumped back in surprise, having thought she would be unable to see him from where he stood. _

"_Chuck?" She turned her head towards him and smiled._

_Slowly, he entered his mother's sitting room, shuffling his feet until he was standing next to her._

"_Do you want to feel the baby kicking?" Evelyn asked, as she rubbed her stomach that had started growing larger in recent weeks. _

_He stared in fascination as the sunlight hit her stomach, and the large purple ring on her left hand sparkled brightly. He could not recall a single time that she had not worn that ring._

"_Why do you wear that ring everyday?" He asked curiously, trying to avoid his true question. _

"_This ring?" She stretched out her hand so it could catch even more light from the sun. _

_He nodded in lieu of an answer. _

"_Your father gave it to me when he asked me to marry him," his mother said dreamily, as she wiggled her fingers to admire it herself. "It's my betrothal ring."_

_Chuck cocked his head to the side as his nose wrinkled up in confusion. "But all the Ladies in London have heart-shaped diamond ones."_

_Evelyn smiled indulgently. "Yes, but your father is a Duke and I am a Duchess. We are what everyone aspires to be. Never forget, Chuck, you will be a Duke one day—and the world shall not only stop for you, but they will follow your lead. Besides, purple is my very favorite color."_

"_Purple is my very favorite color, too," he said bashfully his hand reaching out to touch her ring._

"_I know, my love," she said, as she stroked his hair. "When you were three, you attempted to eat it everyday, as though it were a mint or a lemon-flavored candy."_

"_I did not," he denied hotly. But he did not stop his mother's affectionate ministrations. _

"_Yes, you did," she said gaily._

_He could hear the laughter in her voice and it was contagious. His attempt to stare at his mother crossly was broken up with a smile of his own. Maybe his mother _was _getting better. _

"_One day, I will give you this ring for your bride," she vowed impulsively as she touched his face. "Even though I love it dearly, I do believe I love you _more_."_

"_More than it?" Chuck couldn't stop himself from asking as he pointed to her stomach. _

"_I'll love you two the same."_

_He shook his head. "It is impossible to love things equally."_

"_I'll love you two the same, but I'll love you differently," Evelyn amended. "You'll always be my first child, and no one can take that away."_

"_And if _it_ wants your ring?" He asked sullenly._

"_Well he or she can't have it," she said solemnly, but there was a twinkle in her eyes. "Is there a certain girl you have your eye on already?"_

"_Bleh!" He made a face. "I abhor girls!"_

_His mother didn't bother to disguise her amusement. "You will not always feel that way, Chuck. One day you will meet the right girl and you'll fall in love."_

"_Take that back!" He demanded._

_Evelyn laughed._

"_I will _never_ fall in love," he vowed._

"_Chuck, love is the most wonderful thing in the world," she said softly. "And this ring is a symbol of your father's love for me. So I will have to modify my previous statement. You may have my ring for your future bride, but _only_ if you love her."_

"_And if I don't? Will you give your ring to _it_?" _

"_No, this ring is only fit for a Rowley Duchess who is very much loved by her husband."_

"_Ok," he agreed begrudgingly. _

"_Now, do you want to feel the little one?" His mother asked. Before he could object she took his hands and placed it on her stomach. _

_Suddenly, he felt a movement, and he pulled his hands away. "What was that? How did you do that?"_

"_That is your little brother or sister trying to say hello."_

"_It felt funny," he said as he suspiciously eyed her stomach. _

"_You'll get used to it," she promised, as she reached for his hand and placed it back on her stomach. _

_He felt another movement. "Does that hurt?"_

"_Not at all," she answered as she shook her head. With a gentle look, she asked him, "You will help me select a name for him or her, won't you?"_

"_I suppose," he said flippantly. He was trying to give off an impression of indifference, but suddenly the idea of having a sibling seemed very appealing. _

"_I would very much appreciate it."_

_Chuck didn't know how long he stood there feeling her stomach, but a name flashed into his head. He blurted out, "Thomas, if it's a boy."_

_His mother smiled. "Thomas, if it's a boy."_

Chuck was startled out of his memory by a loud knock. He looked up to see his butler open the door, a furtive look of concern on his face. "Yes, Arthur?"

"You've been sitting here for nearly four hours, my lord. Will you be wanting supper and a bath before you attend the ball tonight?"

His eyes flew to the ornate longcase clock that sat in the corner. He couldn't believe he had sat through that many quarter and hour chimes without noticing. Chuck was still clutching his mother's betrothal ring tightly and said nothing. There was a sharp ache in chest when he looked down at the amethyst stone. It would look beautiful against Blair's porcelain skin. He could imagine her lips curving into a smile at the knowledge that it had been his mother's. Not even a moment later, a far less pleasant thought floated into his mind—his father's possible reaction if he saw the ring on Blair's finger before they were wed. Chuck didn't even want to consider the scene that could be caused, and he wouldn't put it past Bart to go so far as to tear the ring off her hand. _No_. He would not subject Blair to that level of cruelty or public censure. He would have to wait until their wedding night to present her with it.

"Do you still plan on seeing Miss Waldorf tonight, my lord?" Arthur asked worriedly.

_Did he?_ He hesitated for a moment—Blair was what had brought him back to London earlier than scheduled. He needed to hold her in his arms and seek comfort about everything that had happened with his father. She was still his sliver of light that would prevent him from drowning in darkness. He _needed_ her.

As he glanced at the clock again, he knew it would be well past ten o'clock before he made it to the Vaughn Ball. Perhaps, that could work to his advantage—he would miss the greeting line and could slip in virtually unnoticed. Finally, he answered, "Please have a bath drawn for me and have a tray brought in here."

"Right away, my lord," His butler said in relief. Quickly, he turned to rush out the door.

"Arthur," Chuck called him back, a smirk on his face.

"Yes, my lord?" He asked as he turned back.

"I believe my mother's betrothal ring will make a more appropriate wedding gift. Please make certain Kendrick receives word that I appreciate the risk he took in getting it to me. But if I'm not mistaken, Robert Garrad & Brothers are currently the preferred jeweler of the ton. See that I have no fewer than two dozen rings to look at in the morning."

Arthur smiled happily. "Right away, my lord. Do you have any preference in jewels?"

Chuck pursed his lips for a moment. Decisively, he answered, "Rubies. I wish for her to have a ruby ring."

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_**tbc**_

* * *

A/N: As always, my undying gratitude to uncorazonquebrado for taking the time to beta my story. A simple 'thank you' is _**not enough**_ to express my genuine appreciation.

Thank you to all the readers and reviewers who continue to follow my story. I appreciate the support.


	15. ch 14: marry me

Blair sat at her dresser while Dorota curled and pinned her hair. She couldn't stop her eye from wandering over to the exquisite royal purple silk dress that was hanging off her armoire. It had been beautiful a couple of days ago when she went in for her final fitting, and it practically shimmered now, just waiting for her to wear it. She let out a deep sigh.

"Miss Blair?" Her maid asked her worriedly. "Is your hair not to your liking?"

Her eyes snapped to the mirror where she saw that her hair had been beautifully styled, with her dark curls tumbling down her back. She smiled prettily, "Oh, Dorota, it's just perfect!"

A look of relief crossed her maid's face, just as a knock on the door sounded. They both turned their heads to find Eleanor standing there.

"Blair, darling, you look beautiful," her mother said with a smile. "Are you almost ready? Lily and Serena are meeting us downstairs in a few minutes."

"I just need to grab my reticule," she answered back, flushing at her mother's praise. She had noticed how her mother had become much freer with her compliments since the night of Blair's come out ball, and she was still acquainting herself with hearing them so often.

"Dorota, please make sure Blair's coat and gloves are ready," Eleanor said pointedly, dismissing the maid from their room.

Blair quickly transferred the items from last evening's bag into the golden drawstring purse that matched her dress. As she tied the twisted cord into a bow, she turned around to find Eleanor looking at her expectantly.

"Yes, Mother?"

"Now, don't be upset with Dorota," her mother started to say.

Blair made a face. Sometimes she wanted to strangle her maid.

"But she mentioned that you were having doubts about wearing that gown," Eleanor continued as she pointed at Blair's birthday dress. "Tomorrow evening. Is that true?"

"It's just…" she mumbled quietly.

"Speak up, dear," her mother said. Eleanor walked over and tipped her face up so she could meet her gaze.

"Chuck's not going to be there," she started out bravely, before trailing off. "And I don't think I should wear his gift, if he won't get to see it on me…"

"You'll wear it again."

Her eyes looked to the ground. "It's not the same."

Silence.

"No, I gather it's not," her mother conceded. "I suppose you'll thank me that I had the foresight to have an alternate dress made, _just in case_?"

Blair's eyes flew up to meet Eleanor's smug grin.

"Just because I'm your 'old' mother, doesn't mean I don't remember what it was like to be young and in love."

"You are the best mother!"

"Well, you won't hear an argument from me. But beware, the next appropriate occasion for you to wear that gown will most likely be at the Chamberlain Ball—that's three weeks away," Eleanor advised carefully.

"That's fine, Mother," Blair rushed to assure her. "I would rather wait."

"If you're sure?"

"I am."

"Off we go, then. We're supposed to meet Lady Baizen and Carter at the Vaughns. In fact, I'm certain they're already at the ball. Amanda mentioned over tea that she and Carter were invited for supper," Eleanor confided with a mischievous grin.

Blair started giggling. "Poor Carter! Did you see him last night, Mother? He acted like a schoolboy, trying to hide behind my dress! I so wished Georgie was there, we could have laughed together all night. I will do my best to remind him just how silly he was."

"I never suspected that he would behave in such a fashion. If I recall correctly, every girl in Mansfield pursued him avidly before he left. And the debutantes of London are no different. To think, this is _without_ word of the fortune he's amassed in America. When news spreads about his wealth, the marriage minded mothers will drag their daughters and line up around the block, and be even more relentless than before," her mother said.

"I find this all terribly entertaining and a welcome distraction," Blair admitted with a laugh. "But I did agree to be on hand to help fend off his collection of admirers. He made me promise I would let him fill each alternate dance on my card this evening. I think he's terrified of being left alone with any of them."

"Blair," Eleanor said disapprovingly. "Family friend or not, it is not proper for you to dance so many times with Carter. That will be tantamount to him declaring himself. Tell me you did not actually agree to that."

She waved her hand dismissively. "I'm _sure_ Carter was exaggerating. And even if he weren't, I don't wish to dance with him that often anyway. Every time we dance, I'm still convinced he'll step on my toes, the way he did when I was thirteen, and he was forced to be my dance partner for practice. Don't you remember? I didn't speak to him for nearly a month, when he ruined my new slippers!"

Instead of showing any signs of amusement, Blair was surprised by the rather serious look on her mother's face.

"I wonder what the Marquess will think. You don't want him to hear that you were in someone else's pocket while he was away, do you?" Eleanor said coolly.

"It's hardly 'someone else's pocket'," Blair huffed in annoyance. "It's _Carter_. Besides, Chuck wouldn't believe a word of it!"

"The way you didn't believe a word about the gossip of him and his opera singers?" She asked acidly.

The blood drained from her face. "Mother, you know those were just rumors. Chuck never—."

"I'm well aware he compensated those women to entertain his potential business partners, Blair."

"How did you know?" She asked in confusion.

"Do you think that I would just let him waltz in and spend time with you unchaperoned if he had been gallivanting around town with other women? He very correctly explained the situation to me, in order to secure seeing you, before he left," Eleanor revealed.

Blair was stunned, it had never occurred to her that her mother would bar Chuck from seeing her or that Eleanor would interfere on her behalf.

"So, let this serve as a reminder how deceiving appearances can be. You are in an enviable position, Blair, and tongues will be loose and free. You have been singled out by an elusive Marquess and the next most attractive bachelor is your childhood friend and former neighbor. There are people who would be more than delighted to witness your fall."

She opened her mouth to defend herself, but found herself to be speechless. Surely there was no way Chuck would ever think she wasn't devoted to him…was there? She didn't know how to answer the question. The truth of the matter was, neither of them had actually given voice to the exact nature of their feelings. But there was no denying the strength of the connection they shared, it were as if an invisible cord bound her heart to his. Even now, she wondered if he felt the same pangs of loneliness that had shrouded her since the moment he stepped into his carriage nine days ago.

Before she could say anything, Serena bounced into the room. "Blair, Nate's just arrived. If you come with us, we can ride to the ball together. Please say yes!"

The two Waldorf women continued to stare at one another.

"Blair?" Serena asked hesitantly. "Lady Waldorf?"

"Go ahead, dear," Eleanor finally said. "Lily and I will follow shortly."

Blair nodded as she made her way to the door.

"Think about what I said, Blair," her mother called out.

"I will," she promised.

Serena linked her arm with hers as they walked down the stairs. Her friend turned to her and asked, "Is everything ok, Blair?"

She pasted a tight smile on her face, her mind heavy with thoughts. "Everything's just fine."

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The Vaughn Manor was quite large and boasted four ballrooms, each room well-lit by hundreds of candles. The Grand and Petite Ballrooms—where the small orchestra and dancing were held—were adjacent to each other and connected by the removal of the intricate wood panels. Another ballroom was set up for cards—there were tables for whist, faro and even baccarat, to accommodate all discerning players. Even the garden had lanterns scattered about, for those who wished to venture outside into the cold almost wintery night. It was a shame that the normally lush garden was more than a bit barren due to the change of weather. However, it did not stop small clusters of men from venturing out to smoke a cheroot or their pipe.

But it was in the final ballroom where Blair currently held court. She played the final note to Bach's Sonata in G Minor and slowly removed her hands from the pianoforte and rested them onto her lap. A moment later, there was a loud burst of applause. She looked up and smiled at Kati Farkas, one of her favorite fellow debutantes this Season, who laid down her flute. It had been a pleasant surprise to find out that they not only played well together, but were also evenly matched in skill. Blair had only ever performed this piece publicly with Georgie once before. Both she and Kati curtseyed politely to the crowd that had gathered to listen.

Serena with Isabel Coates in tow, rushed up to them.

"B, you played even better than last time!" Serena exclaimed happily. Then with a quick glance over her shoulder to make certain no one could hear her, she whispered naughtily, "You would have loved the look on Penelope's face—_pure jealousy_."

The four girls laughed softly, as Isabel joined in with her praise of them both.

"Really, Kati, we shall have to see what other pieces we can play together. You make a wonderful partner," Blair said graciously.

"You'll have to come over Kati. No one but Blair uses the music room, anyway. Don't worry, Is and I will be your audience," Serena offered.

Isabel nodded. Shyly she said, "I do play the cello. So perhaps, I can bring it, and we can all play together?"

"You play the cello?" All three girls asked in unison.

She blushed furiously, but nodded her head again.

Kati clapped her hands together. "We must do this soon. It will be so fun."

"I really wish I had taken to an instrument," Serena said with a face. "The harp was the only thing that held my interest over three months, although, I don't think I quite made it to a year. I do so hate to practice."

They all smiled at each other. Before another word could be spoken, their party had expanded from four to five.

"Miss Farkas, Miss Waldorf, you both played beautifully," Carter said.

Kati and Blair both thanked him. As the conversation continued, Blair found herself taking a step back mentally. Part of the reason she had allowed herself to be recruited to play the pianoforte tonight, was the conversation she had had with her mother earlier. Normally, when at a ball, she preferred to have her dance card full or roam around with her friends and gossip in the corners. In order to test Carter's motives, Blair had suggested that he stay out of the ballroom to avoid having to do the pretty with the number of girls who were already lining up for a moment of his time. He had agreed without hesitation, and confided that he would love to avoid dancing altogether. And much to her relief, Carter hadn't clung to her tonight the way he had the past couple of nights.

But the restless energy was building up within her, and it had nothing to do with Carter or anyone else at this evening's ball. She was remembering the first time she had played for Chuck.

_He clapped politely when she finished the Haydn concerto. She looked up and saw the admiration in his eyes and stifled her smile. She started to rise from the bench, but halted when he told her to stop. He stood up and sat down next to her._

"_How old were you when you started to play?" He asked curiously. _

"_Eleven," she whispered as she looked away. _

_Chuck inched closer to her so that his thigh and arm pressed against hers. Smugly, he asked, "Any particular reason why? Did something happen that made you wish to learn? Most children start music lessons at a much younger age than that." _

_She felt her cheeks burning with embarrassment and kept her face turned away from his. _He knew._ When she remained silent he spoke. _

"_I met an eleven year old girl once," he murmured as his lips grazed her ear. "She was the most interesting person I've ever met. I have it on good authority, that she is currently the most bewitching debutante in all of London."_

_He reached over and tipped her face so that she was facing him. His thumb rubbed lightly over her lips. Her eyes fluttered shut as her heart started beating quickly. He skimmed his mouth over her cheek and his lips hovered over her ear._

"_Teach me to play something, Blair."_

_Her eyes blinked open in surprise. "Chuck?"_

_He took her hands into his and placed them gently onto the keys. "Start with something simple."_

_She hesitated for a moment, "Maybe a scale?"_

_He nodded._

_Blair moved her hands across the keys gracefully, and was delighted how Chuck's hands traveled in unison with hers. She repeated the scale three times, savoring the feel of his skin rubbing against hers. Reluctantly, she pulled her hands away. "You try it, now."_

_To her amazement, his fingers flew over the keys with a refinement that bespoke years of lessons. _

"_You're a natural! Let's try another one."_

_And they repeated the process all over again. By the time they played the fourth scale, she was beginning to get suspicious. She stared at him from the corner of her eye, yet almost missed the way his lips twitched into a quick smirk. _

"_You know how to play already!" She accused angrily. "You just wanted to make fun of me."_

"_Blair, that's not true, and you know it," he defended himself._

"_Then why the ruse? Why pretend you don't know how to play?"_

"_Because I will take advantage of any opportunity that allows me to touch you," he drawled._

"_Oh!" She exclaimed. She was surprised by his bluntness, but she could see the truth in his eyes. _

"_So, stop talking, and teach me to play some more scales," he nudged her. "I wish to hold your hand all afternoon."_

_She placed her hands back on the piano, and his hands covered hers. Before she could start, he squeezed her hands softly. A smile spread across her face and she began to play another scale. _

"Blair?" Serena waved a hand in front of her face. "Blair!"

She startled herself out of her musings and looked up at four expectant faces. With a blush, she said, "I apologize—woolgathering."

Serena gave her a knowing look. "Let's go take a peak at the ballroom. I feel like dancing."

Blair, Serena and Carter excused themselves and made their way out of one ballroom. They ran across Nate in the game room. At the dim sound of a waltz starting, Serena tugged on his arm, and the two rushed off into the ballroom.

"Carter, you don't have to go into the ballroom if you don't want to. I don't need an escort," Blair said reassuringly as she stepped into an alcove. "You know, the moment you enter, you will be swarmed with attention. Surely you noticed the flock of girls staring at you in the music room?"

"I find that it's best when I don't acknowledge them. If I pay them any attention, it will only encourage them," Carter confided as he leaned against the pillar. "I know I've been gone for three years, but sometimes I feel it were ten. I think having never spent much time in London, makes me rather green, learning to navigate the social waters, much like yourself."

"It isn't so much navigation as it is a highly elaborate and over-choreographed dance," she countered wryly.

"But not everyone is as clever as you, Blair Bear," he said fondly.

"Not everyone can be," she retorted.

Carter grinned. "It would be remiss if I didn't thank you for being such a good friend to me. I really do appreciate you allowing me to tag along and hide behind your skirts in fear of every marriage-minded mother."

"I think the word is 'cower', not 'hide'," she teased him playfully. Her eyes danced with mirth. "I do enjoy your being adult enough to admit it."

He reached out and tapped her lightly on the chin with affection. "You, Miss Waldorf, are incorrigible."

She giggled. "Lord Baizen, I pray you come with me, so I can I feed you to the wolves."

Carter scowled at her, but offered her his arm which she took with glee. Just as she was about to let him lead her away, her senses started prickling and it felt as though someone was watching her. She casually made a scan of the room, but nowhere did she find a pair of eyes chronicling her movements. She matched her step with Carter and prattled on, all the while wondering why suddenly there was a change in the air.

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In the shadows of a secluded corner, Chuck tried to calm himself down. Nothing would have prepared him to bear witness to the moment he just saw. All he wanted to do was punch that smug bastard who had the audacity to touch _his _Blair's face. His heart clenched, she had looked _happy_. This entire time he was away from her, he had felt lonely and incomplete. It was foolish of him to think that she would feel the same way about him. As he closed his eyes, all he could hear was his father's words, ringing in his ears.

"_Surely you don't believe that Miss Blair Waldorf is interested in you alone, do you? She needs to make a match—this season. Everyone around town knows that her mother will sell her to the highest bidder."_

He shook his head, trying to drown out the words.

"_Never use her womanly wiles to seduce you into thinking that she's the only woman for you? Never look up at you with those big brown eyes of hers and flutter her lashes? I have to hand it to her mother, she trained her daughter brilliantly." _

"No," he whispered aloud. He would _not_ let his father undermine him this time. He loved Blair, and whatever he thought he just saw, there had to be an explanation. He needed to give her the chance to tell him what was going on, the way she had allowed for him to do so, before he left on his trip.

Despite the shards of pain he felt now, the idea of not being with her was far more debilitating. Why had he not more clearly expressed his intentions towards her _before_ he left? The truth of the matter was, he hadn't promised Blair anything. He rationalized that she had every right to be in the company of other men who wished to court her. Until he pledged himself to her, it was probably more advisable that she keep her options open. He needed a drink, and after that, he would settle this once and for all. He would go find Blair and make her his.

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Blair curtseyed gracefully at a bowing Carter, as the quadrille came to an end. Stepping off the dance floor, she debated the merits of getting something to drink. She was not in the mood for lemonade or punch, but she knew she could not have a brandy or something stronger. Over the past half-hour, the sense that someone was watching her had only grown. If she weren't certain that Chuck were in Plymouth, she would think he was hiding somewhere in this very room and gazing at her from afar.

She commanded herself to focus on the present, but her mind kept wandering away from her. She was driving herself mad imagining that Chuck was here. She took a deep breath and looked up at her friends. She was surprised to see Serena and Nate staring at her with matching smirks on their faces.

Serena turned to Nate and asked, "Do you know when the Marquess is supposed to be back in town?"

"I was told sometime next week, but perhaps Miss Waldorf knows better?" Nate answered, trying not to laugh.

Blair's eyes narrowed. She must have missed something. Just as she was about to answer, Carter cut in, "The Marquess? Is this the same one your mother mentioned the other day? A friend of yours?"

"Friend?" Serena laughed. "I think that's putting it lightly."

"_Serena_," Blair hissed.

"I'm going to have to agree with Miss van der Woodsen," Nate added. His blue eyes twinkled kindly. "I don't think the word 'friend' quite does justice as a description of their acquaintanceship."

"Now is _not_ an appropriate time to discuss this subject. I'm sure Chuck wouldn't appreciate it," she said through gritted teeth.

"'Chuck'?" Carter frowned. "Just how close are the two of you?"

"I don't know, maybe you should just ask him yourself?" Serena suggested as both girls ignored him.

"It's a bit of an impossibility, since he's not _here_," Blair snapped. She was going to strangle the blonde when they got home. She did not find this the slightest bit amusing. Just as she was about to instruct Serena that this conversation was over, she felt the familiar tingling sensation run up her back, even stronger. It was the same feeling she got every time Chuck was near.

Nate coughed. "I think he might disagree with you."

Blair stared at him blankly.

His eyes were starting at something or someone behind her. She whirled around.

_Chuck_.

"Miss Waldorf," the familiar voice drawled out.

Her heart skipped a beat.

"You're here," she whispered.

She was one step from throwing her arms around him, when Serena nudged her in her back. Quickly remembering herself, she dropped into a curtsey in unison with her friend. "Lord Bass."

He nodded politely at Serena, but lifted her hand and pressed a light kiss. He seemed unwilling to let go of her hand, but he did.

"Arthur told me you weren't back for another few days," Nate said innocently. "When did you return?"

"This afternoon," Chuck said shortly.

"Did the meeting go well?" Blair asked with concern.

He smiled at her softly. "Couldn't have gone better."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "That's wonderful news! I'm so happy to hear that. You'll have to tell me all about it."

Carter chose that moment to clear his throat, pulling Chuck and Blair out of their bubble.

Before any introductions could be made, Serena pointedly asked, "Nate, will you please escort me to get something to drink. I'm quite parched."

"If you'll excuse us," Nate said with a bow.

A moment later, it was just the three of them. Blair was so overwhelmed by the fact that Chuck was standing in front of her, she had no idea how closely the entire ballroom was watching the trio. She made a mental note to thank Serena from saving her from a disastrous faux pas, squashing all plans to maim her friend later. But now, she was just trying to plot out a way to get him alone. She wanted him to kiss her and hold her, and she wished to run her fingers through his hair. The thought alone was causing her to flush in anticipation.

The silence stretched between them, until Chuck looked at Blair expectantly. Snapping out of her daze, she rushed to introduce the two men.

"Where are my manners? Chuck, this is my very dearest friend, Lord Carter Baizen," she said with a nervous giggle. "Oops! Forgive me. Carter, this is the Marquess of Stanhope, Lord Charles Bass."

The two men assessed each other, while they nodded at each other coolly.

"Bass," Carter acknowledged with a clipped voice.

"Baizen," Chuck practically sneered. "How do you know _Blair_?"

"Well, _Blair Bear_ and I have been closely acquainted for _years_," Carter mocked in return.

"Chuck? Carter?" Blair asked in confusion.

They chose to ignore her and continued to stare each other down.

Eager to ease the strange tension that was rising between the two, Blair blurted out, "The Baizen estate borders the old Waldorf estate, Chuck. Carter's practically my older brother!"

Chuck smirked slowly as he tilted his head. "_Brother_?"

"Yes." Blair frowned. But when she saw Chuck's eyes soften, her nerves settled. She was so focused on Chuck's reaction that she didn't realize her single syllable confirmation had been the cause of the light draining from Carter's eyes.

"Well, any friend of Miss Waldorf's is a friend of mine, especially someone who's _practically a brother_," Chuck said smoothly.

"And how long have you been acquainted with Blair?" Carter asked stiltedly.

"Actually, it's an interesting story. Suffice to say, I've known her for years—."

"Oh, it's not that interesting at all," Blair interrupted with a blush. Chuck smiled at her knowingly. Batting her eyes at Chuck, she said, "Is it just me, or is it uncomfortably warm in this ballroom? I'm practically feverish."

"Perhaps a stroll in the garden would be satisfactory?" Chuck offered as his eyes traveled slowly down the length of her body.

She shivered before demurely answering, "That would be lovely."

"Blair, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

They turned to stare at Carter, whom they both had forgotten was there.

"Well, I'm in dire need of some fresh air," she explained.

"Then I'll accompany _both_ of you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Blair said as she rolled her eyes. Her gaze again went to Chuck. "I assure you, the Marquess will keep me safe."

Chuck reached out for her hand, and tucked it into his arm. With a dismissive nod at Carter he led her towards the doors to the gardens. She went without a second glance, leaving her childhood friend staring after them, mouth agape.

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They were silent as they walked down the stairs of the terrace and into the virtually isolated garden. If Chuck recalled correctly, there was a stone wall just past the gazebo that would ensure some privacy. He wanted _no_ interruptions for this moment. The cool breeze of the night's air had Blair stepping closer to him. She squeezed his arm as they walked through the gazebo and onto the gravel path. He didn't allow himself to even spare her a glance, knowing his need to have her in his arms was building. As soon as they cleared the wooden structure and was out of eyesight, he abruptly veered to his left, and pinned her against the wall.

"Did you miss me?" He questioned as his hands rested firmly on her hips, stroking her hipbones while he looked determinedly into her eyes.

"Did _you_ miss _me_?" Blair teased while she slid her hands onto his chest.

Chuck closed his eyes briefly—he loved the way her hands felt on him and how she never shied from touching him. But he needed her to answer him first and help him take the final step.

"School house rules, I asked you first," His tone was shaper than he intended. Gently, he repeated his question, "Did you miss me?

She blinked her eyes at him in confusion, but then gave a careless shrug of her shoulders. She danced her fingers up his shoulders, until they cupped his face, her thumbs lightly brushing against his cheekbones.

"Yes, of course. I can't believe you're standing in front of me, it feels so surreal," she said softly. She pulled his face close to hers, so his lips hovered just above hers. She whispered, "And did you miss me?"

"Desperately," Chuck whispered back. Before Blair could blink, his lips were on hers, as he drew her to him. When she parted her lips, his tongue invaded with skill and precision, as he swallowed her moans of pleasure. Her hands slipped from his face and she clutched his arms, pressing her body against his. He savored the familiar taste of her, the way she fit perfectly in his arms. He was _home_.He continued his possession of her mouth, for what felt both like an eternity and not nearly long enough.

She writhed against him and matched him kiss for kiss. As his hands roamed up and down her back, he could feel her arousal—thrumming and pulsing through her limbs. He needed to press his advantage _now_. He knew he was a bastard for doing it this way, but he couldn't help it. Deep down inside, he was afraid she didn't really want him. Given a chance to think it through, she would see that he would never be good enough for her. He pulled his mouth from hers, and pressed kisses against her throat.

"Marry me," he demanded as he looked into her lust-filled eyes. He made it a habit of demanding things—because it was asking for things that troubled him. Demand, and people assumed you were entitled to those very things. Ask, however, and you were forced to campaign your worth for the very thing you asked for. His heart was beating so loudly, he was certain she could hear it.

"Yes, _Chuck_," she lightly moaned.

With a triumphant smile, he started to feather kisses along her jaw line as his finger played with a single curl. He was a coward for resorting to trickery, but he didn't care—she had agreed to be his. He would not allow her to take those words back—ever. He brought his mouth back to hers and kissed her voraciously for a minute longer, before slowing the intensity of their pace.

From a distance, he heard the chimes of the bells as it struck midnight. Reluctantly, he withdrew his mouth from hers, yet still held her close to him. He buried his face into her neck for a brief moment, inhaling her intoxicating scent. Needing to confirm that she now belonged to him, he murmured in her ear, "Happy Birthday, Blair."

She turned her face so she could brush her lips against his. "You remembered. But my birthday isn't until tomorrow. Your early return is the best present I could have asked for."

"But it's now past midnight, and so it is officially your birthday," he said playfully, despite the nervous energy of the butterflies in his stomach. "We will have to make this our new tradition—celebrating your birthday in the wee hours. Preferably, with you naked in my bed, Lady Bass."

She felt a flutter of anticipation at his words. As she reached to untie his cravat, she was saturated with the image of the two of them in his bed. 'Lady Bass' had a nice ring—she froze still. The words he had spoken had finally penetrated into her mind. "Huh? Who? What? When? Where?"

Chuck stared at her lazily, merely raising a brow. The rhythm of her heart tripled. _No_. He couldn't possibly…_could he_?

Before she could say a word, he smoothly informed her, "A 'yes' is a 'yes'. There's no way I'll let you back out of this. I'm fixed on having you as _my_ Duchess of Rowly, Blair."

"Are you sure?" She asked shyly, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"I've never been more certain of anything in my entire life. I came home early, because I couldn't stand to be without you another day," he confessed, as he brought her hand to his mouth, and pressed a kiss in her palm. "Blair, you will you marry me, won't you?"

She bit her lip as tears prickled her eyes. It was actually happening, she would be _his_. Nodding her head in agreement, she answered simply, "Yes."

His fingers clasped hers, and he tugged her against him. But instead of kissing her passionately, he dropped the lightest kiss onto her lips, his mouth brushing chastely against hers. Reverently, he said, "I will spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you've made me, tonight."

"It's not possible to be happier than I am now."

Chuck smiled at her. "Then we will spend our lives together being obnoxiously happy."

"And we'll have to lord it over everyone."

"Of course."

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When Chuck and Blair re-entered the ballroom after what felt like decades to Carter, there was no mistaking that something had occurred out on their _stroll_ through the gardens. Blair's cheeks were flushed, her face completely aglow, her eyes were dancing with merriment and her lips way too full, as though she had no doubt been thoroughly kissed. Carter held his breath. He couldn't recall ever seeing her look more beautiful than in that moment.

He watched Blair turn to look up at Chuck—the blatant look of adoration the Marquess gave her, only further illustrated a secret shared between the two of them. Perhaps it was the way their fingers were interlaced, but the intimacy between them spelled out one thing, and one thing alone—they belonged to each other.

The sound of Carter's heart breaking went unnoticed.

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_tbc_

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A/N: Thank you to my wonderful beta Uncorazonquebrado. You really outdo yourself with your work. I know I sound like a broken record, but I love the insight you bring. So again, thank you.

To my readers, I am sooooo sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I had a minor fluffsplosion and was scribbling down my ideas before they vanished. I will endeavor not to lag so much next time. As always, thank you for taking the time to read my story.


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